


Star Wars: The Three Houses

by SuperNerd92



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Star Wars Setting, Gen, Minor Ashe Duran | Ashe Ubert/Ingrid Brandl Galatea, Minor Caspar von Bergliez/Linhardt von Hevring, Minor Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Marianne von Edmund, Minor Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier, Minor Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra, Those Who Sith in the Dark, minor Claude/Edelgard (frenemies to lovers)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:27:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 30
Words: 79,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26027221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuperNerd92/pseuds/SuperNerd92
Summary: Young Force-Sensitives in the Fodlan System receive their final training at the Garreg Mach Jedi Enclave. This year, Darth Arundel, secret Lord of the Sith, sends his apprentice, Edelgard, to attend. He expects her to be the tool of the Jedi's destruction... but she has other plans. Her master must die, and she'll ally with whoever it takes to bring him down.
Relationships: Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 78
Kudos: 71





	1. Adrestia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You don't need to know much about Star Wars, I swear. A lot of this draws on my time playing the Old Republic MMO, but the setting is some generic time prior to the Prequel Trilogy. Just think of Crests as the ability to use the Force and each country as its own planet; the rest will be explained on the way.
> 
> 8/28: Changed the relationships tag to Minor/Background. I'll list them out in Other Tags as they come up so you know what's up. I'm gonna pair these kids off like crazy, but it won't really be the focus of the story.

Edelgard’s nostrils flared with contempt the moment her master, Darth Arundel, turned to leave the room. No _proper_ Sith would ever turn his back on an apprentice. But she’d long known that Arundel was no proper Sith. 

Since the ancient days of Darth Bane, the Rule of Two had been embedded in their doctrine. Sith didn’t respect many rules - only that single one, central to their very survival. There was no other way for Sith to live. Bane had seen it firsthand, as the last attempt at an Empire crumbled into ruin, each Lord more interested in stabbing their rivals in the back than focusing their efforts against the hated Jedi. Bane had directed that energy into a single power play: one apprentice, learning what it meant to be Sith by surpassing - and killing - their teacher. 

Arundel was so arrogant that he actually thought he could circumvent the Rule. Edelgard was not his only apprentice. A legion of minions spread throughout the Galactic Republic, like maggots on a corpse. Most sickening of all, they were actually loyal to their master. _Disgusting_. 

He was impatient, greedy, foolish. He would be the last Darth at this rate. Unless… she acted before he could ruin everything. 

Out of a dozen potential heirs to planetary throne, only she had survived the Sith training. Adrestia’s powerful military and fleet in a Sith’s hands was exactly what Arundel had been waiting for to start his war. He thought her a pliable tool, the same sort of worm as his other students. 

The fool never even considered that he’d created his own downfall.

Hubert Vestra was waiting for her at the Adrestian Intelligence Agency headquarters, flanked by two Sith. She greeted the trio with a single, imperious nod, watching as they snapped to attention.

The male Sith was tall and handsome, an elegant curved saber hilt on his ornate belt. Ferdinand Aegir was supposedly Arundel’s creature, but they’d discovered his weakness early on: a most un-Sith-like honorable streak. It hadn’t taken her head spy long to convert him to their side. He was a loyal ally now, though an irritating one, constantly pointing out when he thought Edelgard had made the wrong decision. 

As for Bernadetta Varley … frankly, it was a miracle she’d survived the Sith training. Rumor had it that, when thrown into the ancient tomb to fend for herself, she’d panicked and unleashed so much Force that her instructor and the rest of her class had all been buried in the rubble. She’d never shown much capability of harnessing her power consciously, though, and was mostly here because her Force-blind father was the head of Intelligence. 

The elder Varley was Arundel’s loyal minion, but it mattered not. Hubert had been playing the game of shadows since childhood, and most of the intelligence apparatus now echoed his personal loyalty to Edelgard. Arundel, with a typical Sith’s contempt of the Force-blind, hadn’t bothered to realize it was happening. 

“You have news from your dear uncle?” Hubert asked, voice silky, betraying nothing of his true contempt for the Darth. Even here - especially here - there would be bugs. 

She nodded. “He ordered us to begin the operation. It’s time for us to start playing at being Jedi… long enough to learn their secrets and open their underbelly, naturally.” 

“Naturally,” Ferdinand agreed, while Bernadetta mostly managed a panicked squeak. 

“Jedi typically train from early childhood,” Hubert said, opening a holographic file before their eyes. “As such, we have falsified training histories for the three of you. They should hold up to any slicer’s scrutiny - I coded them myself. And Bernadetta is a _very_ convincing writer.” 

“That… that’s why you asked me to come up with backstories? I thought we were playing a game! Oh no, no, these are not CLOSE to being good enough to fool the _Jedi!_ ” Bernadetta stammered.

“It will be fine. We won’t need silly things such as disguises or false names. The Galaxy is so vast that any misstep on our parts will be attributed to a particular quirk among Adrestia’s Jedi,” her companion assured her. 

“Just so. Furthemore, Garreg Mach is a particularly… _lax_ Enclave,” Hubert said, forming the word with obvious distaste. “The political realities of the Fodlan System force them to be. Faerghus’ royal line and noble families must endure; and Leicester refused to join the Republic unless its Jedi could return home to their families.” 

“Nonetheless, we must take this assignment seriously,” Edelgard said. “Hand me your lightsaber, Bernadetta. It wouldn’t do for you to re-focus your crystal incorrectly.” 

“I’ve taken the liberty of additional precautions,” her spymaster said. 

“Yes?” She was only half-listening, focusing on the Force in the kyber crystal, making _quite_ sure that Bernadetta’s telltale red saber blade would show itself as a more acceptable Jedi green. 

“I’ve hired a Mandalorian clan. They will report directly to me and can intervene in the event of any… unpleasantness.”

Ferdinand snorted. “ _Mandalorians_? They are the least subtle warriors in the Galaxy. Are you quite certain about this?” 

“We aren’t asking them to lie,” Hubert argued smoothly. “They were hired to guard the Princess of Adrestia, and that’s what they’ll do - no matter what.”

Edelgard huffed. She could take care of herself, but Hubert had gone behind her back, as he often did. And it was a good plan, as it often was. 

“Very well. I suppose it _will_ keep up appearances.” 

“The pair they sent as your personal bodyguards are waiting for us at the shuttle bay,” Hubert said, allowing himself to look and sound ever so slightly smug. 

“Then let us not keep them waiting any longer.” 

* * *

Edelgard had never met a Mandalorian, but she watched the HoloNet. As such, she wasn’t surprised by the bright paint that covered their armor (the shorter one wore deep blue, the taller one a garish sort of green), nor that they kept their helmets on even in the presence of the heir to the planet’s throne. 

“Caspar, at your service!” the shorter one announced, his voice _too loud_ even though his helmet should surely have modulated that away. 

“Linhardt,” the other mumbled, his volume poorly controlled in the _other_ direction. 

Hubert introduced the three Sith, bowing respectfully to each in turn. He’d sunk straight into his usual cover role of Edelgard’s manservant without missing a beat. Only a trained eye would spot the half-dozen vibroknives hidden in the pockets of his tailored coat. 

“Welcome to Adrestia. Please convey my gratitude to Clan Nuhoyir for sending Her Highness this escort,” he concluded. 

“My father-” 

“Clan Leader,” Linhardt interrupted.

“ _Oops,_ right. No, I’m not the second in command, it doesn’t work like that, _anyway_ \- he and the rest of the clan will meet us there,” Caspar said. 

“Very well. Lady Edelgard, please allow me another few minutes to finish the security sweep, and we may depart.” It was _her_ ship, but Hubert was right to be cautious - Arundel could have introduced all manner of listening or recording devices since she’d last used it. 

Edelgard gave both of the Mandalorians an odd look as they fell into step behind her. Caspar was exactly what he appeared to be - loud, brash, presumably a capable fighter. But something about the other - Linhardt - gave her pause. His whole persona seemed… false. The Force was trying to tell her… _something_ , but it was no use - the strange material of the Mandalorian’s armor dampened her senses. 

Well, it would be a long year of playing pretend-Jedi. She’d have plenty of time to uncover the secret. Whatever it was, it didn’t feel directed at her… which was just fine with Edelgard. 

Between the Jedi and her duplicitous master - both of whom would need to be dealt with swiftly and severely - she had more than enough to worry about. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * The Mandalorian word I picked for the clan name is "sleeping/to sleep." Just an inside joke that Caspar and Linhardt are essentially members of Clan Nap. 
> 
> * Ferdinand has the same type of saber as Count Dooku in Episode 2 & 3, if that helps you picture it. Both of them specialize in an antiquated dueling form. 
> 
> * Please note, Edelgard being a Sith isn't some moral condemnation - under the circumstances, she didn't have a choice. This is an 'everybody teams up to kill Thales/TWSITD' fic, and all of the kids are gonna be fine.


	2. Faerghus

Ashe Ubert, captain of the _Kyphon,_ was far from a strict taskmaster. As long as the ship’s engines were well-maintained, he didn’t mind that his three-person crew was a lot more interested in drinking and playing pazaak than cleaning up after themselves. So Dorothea, Petra, and Leonie were more than a little surprised when he interrupted their latest game, snatching the bottle from the small durasteel table. 

“We’ve got a job!”

“We get a lot of jobs,” Petra said. Basic was still a struggle for her, so she spoke in the harsh Huttese trade language. Which was fine, because all of them were fluent in it - what smuggler _didn’t_ deal with the Hutts? 

“Yeah, normally, you don’t get worked up like this,” Leonie pointed out. “What’s the problem with this one?” 

“Problem? Oh, no, no problem. It’s a simple job: transporting the Prince and his Jedi friends to the Garreg Mach Enclave.” Despite his words, Ashe’s hands twisted nervously around the neck of the bottle. 

Dorothea and Leonie exchanged The Look. They’d had a lot of practice with The Look. Their captain was a really nice guy - which was fine, except that being a nice guy tended to get you killed in their line of work.

On one memorable occasion, Ashe had turned down a “request” from the Hutt Cartel because it conflicted with his previous promise to rescue some endangered species for an animal rights’ group. The Cartel’s hired gun had come for them the next time they docked on Nar Shaddaa. Dorothea and Leonie were ready, though, and disposed of the Rodian bounty hunter by throwing him off the Promenade. Ashe slept through the whole affair and was none the wiser. 

“You’re from Faerghus, right?” Dorothea asked.

“Born and raised. A Faerghus noble got me off the streets, actually! He caught me stealing from him, but instead of having me killed, he gave me the loan I used to buy the _Kyphon_ ,” Ashe beamed, giving the nearest wall an affectionate tap. 

“Right…” Dorothea had also been a street kid like Ashe, but her own dealings with Fodlan System nobility hadn’t been _quite_ as rosy. The opposite: an Adrestian kidnapped her and sold her to the Cartel. Ashe had rescued two years ago, and she was grateful for it - but the captain was still far too naive about how the galaxy worked. 

Leonie cleared her throat. “So this is your patriotic duty, or…” 

“We’re being _paid_ ,” Ashe said, finally seeming to catch the skepticism in his crew’s faces. “Above-average rate, too!” 

Petra frowned. “Does the Prince not have a fleet at his beck and call? Why are they hiring a small-time smuggler’s ship to transport someone so important?” 

Leonie winced. “Did ya have to say it like _that_?” 

“It actually makes sense,” Dorothea said, thinking out loud. “A full military convoy and all the trappings didn’t keep their old King safe on that visit to the Duscur Moon. The more people know, the more likely it is that word leaks out, and then…” She drew a finger across her throat.

Ashe shuddered, but nodded at her. “Exactly. The Prince will be traveling incognito for his own safety. But _we_ are cleaning up this ship before he gets here, because he’s still _the Prince_.” 

“Fine.” Dorothea swept the cards off the table. “But as _soon_ as this job is over, we’re buying that maintenance droid.” 

* * *

The Prince’s party consisted of seven people, and their plain brown robes did very little to disguise that the vast majority were Faerghus nobility. It was too obvious in the way that they carried themselves - the innate arrogance that Dorothea had come to know and loathe during their jobs in the Fodlan sector. 

One of them tossed his hood back the moment they were on board, running a hand through his artfully tousled red hair. “Whoa! Dimitri, you didn’t tell me you’d hired such an _attractive_ crew,” he proclaimed, winking in her direction. She rolled her eyes, which just made him laugh.

“ _Sylvain_ ,” one of the women hissed. 

“I can’t help it, they’re so-” 

“Not _that_. You can’t use the Prince’s name!” 

“Uh, hey, he could’ve been _any_ Dimitri. _You’re_ the one who called him ‘Prince!’ Way to blow our cover, _Ingrid_.” 

“Idiots,” the shortest of the four men muttered, and then he was elbowing past the rest of his party and stomping off down the ship corridor. He disappeared into an empty side room. The hum of an activated vibrosword followed a moment later. 

The Prince sighed as he lowered his own hood. He sighed deeper when Ashe bowed. “Please, there’s no need to do that.” 

“Of course, your Highness, uh, I mean-” 

“Dimitri, _please_ ,” his employer said with a pained expression. “Even if I were not traveling incognito, I will not be the Prince when we are at Garreg Mach - just another Jedi padawan, the same as the rest of you.” 

Dorothea looked at the dark-skinned man in full armor that stood behind the Prince, a head taller than anyone else in the room, and resisted the urge to roll her eyes again. Just another padawan, except with a personal bodyguard. What kind of Enclave was this Garreg Mach supposed to be, anyway? 

Their small ship was cramped, but Ashe had made do, though _he’d_ be sleeping on a tiny cot in the cockpit. Dorothea busied herself with pretend tasks, shamelessly eavesdropping on everything that she could. Information was power, and you never did know who might end up paying for it. 

The one noble who’d stormed out without introducing himself was _still_ in the empty storage room, running through various moves, a vibroblade in each hand. He’d been at it for hours and showed no sign of stopping. The redhead - Sylvain - eventually came for him, leaning against the door as he called in. 

“Felix, the food’s getting cold.” 

“I’m busy,” Felix snapped. 

“Dimitri has a headache. He’ll go to bed soon. At least come eat once he’s gone.” 

Interesting - some sort of conflict between these nobles? Dorothea bent over the exposed panel, two random wires in her hand for the sake of appearances. 

“Unless you’re here to train, I’m not interested.” 

“Fine, fine. I’ll spar you... but once I win, you’re coming back with me.” Sylvain drew his own weapon, a larger single vibrosword.

How dull. She moved down the corridor in search of something more interesting - and soon found it. The armored bodyguard and that cute blonde Sylvain had called ‘Ingrid,’ speaking in low voices in a corner. 

At first, she thought she might have interrupted a liaison, but quickly realized that wasn’t it. Both of them looked entirely too _grim_ for that. 

“Dedue...” Ingrid hesitated, but the man didn’t help her, just staring at her levelly. 

“Look, I _know_ not everyone from Duscur was involved in the assassination. I’ve been keeping you at arm’s length, and that isn’t fair… to the Prince, I mean. He trusts you with his life, and so should I.” 

Dedue only shrugged. “You were not the only Faerghus Jedi or soldier to mistrust me. And you… lost more than many of them.” 

_Not_ the type of conversation Dorothea wanted to be eavesdropping on. She moved on quickly, passing the small kitchen. Two of their clients, Annette and Mercedes, had insisted on helping prepare the meal, which would have been nice if they hadn’t left the place in an absolute mess. But they were helping clean up just as cheerfully. Ashe seemed completely at ease next to them, and all three were chattering on about mutual friends in Faerghus’ capital, Fhirdiad. 

She saw that the Prince, Dimitri, was already in his room (the largest Ashe could muster - still rather small and cramped). He sat cross-legged in a Jedi meditation pose, but there was something… off about it. 

She didn’t know much about the Jedi, but she was pretty sure that most of them didn’t meditate with their faces twisted in such obvious anger, or mutter to themselves while they were doing it…

“ _T_ _here is no emotion_. Ahh, Father, leave me alone, I must - _There is no emotion._ No emotion!” 

_Keep telling yourself that,_ Dorothea thought, watching as every object in the room shook and trembled, touched by unseen Force.

Ashe hadn’t just brought a Prince on board - he’d invited a bomb, and the counter was timing down. She was just glad he wouldn’t be _their_ problem for too much longer. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * If you've played SWTOR as a Smuggler, there is literally a quest where you can choose to rescue an endangered species instead of getting your original paycheck from the Hutts, and is that not the most Ashe decision to ever exist?
> 
> * Star Wars is so heavily multi-lingual that I don't think Petra's in-game speech patterns make too much sense when she could just speak her original language and people would know it. Also it saves me from trying to replicate the way they did it, lol 
> 
> * Regardless of the setting the Faerghus Childhood Friends share one braincell.


	3. Leicester

The moment he cleared all of the security protocols, Claude smirked into his communicator and drawled a deliberate “Hi, Boss.” 

The human woman on the other end of the line glared at him. If looks could kill… come to think of it, it was a good thing she was Force-Blind, huh? “Codenames only, _Stag_.” 

“I get that, but c’mon, Boss. These titles they picked are awfully pretentious. You should be yelling at whoever at The Company wanted me to call you ‘Hero’ with a straight face.” _And hey, at least I didn’t call you ‘Judith.’_

(The Company - _always_ spoken in a way that made the capital letters clear - was, of course, a shell corporation run by the Republic’s Strategic Information Service). 

“Security protocols exist for a reason.” 

“Nobody’s gonna slice this call. My encryption is second to none,” Claude said, waving a dismissive hand. Let her argue with that! 

Claude didn’t have anything close to a traditional agent’s training, but he was good, damn good. He’d uncovered their Almyran cell as a bored teenage slicer, and Judith, more impressed than angry, offered to bring him in. He’d readily agreed. Access to a vast intelligence network suited Claude’s personal ambitions just fine, and the assignments the SIS had given him thus far were an amusing test of his skills.

Judith did not, in fact, argue with him, but she did glare at him for a while before adding a third line to their exchange. Four more people crowded around a single screen. Their leader, ‘Mockingbird,’ had more deference than Claude on the official calls, but he’d given his name (or, at least, _a_ name) when they’d first met in person - Yuri. 

But Claude had never met the rest of Yuri’s team before. He sized them up at a glance - first, an arrogant-looking blonde woman with the bearing of a Fodlan noble. Second, a redhead with skin shaded much like his (perhaps she, too, was a human-passing half-Mirialan?) Third, a pointedly shirtless man, who would look perfectly at home in the Hutt gladiator pits. 

No doubt about it - this was not his ordinary check-in call. 

“What do you know about the Sith?” Judith asked, cutting straight to the point. Not even a round of exchanging silly code-names! 

“The way people talk about them in Leicester, they’re a bedtime story to frighten the little Jedi padawans,” Claude said, narrowing his eyes. “But you don’t deal in fairy-tales, Boss. So I’m gonna guess there’s something to it.” 

“The official line is that the Sith were destroyed thousands of years ago. Most of the Republic, hell, most of the Jedi were content to leave it at that. Even _we_ don’t know much about them. But there’s a pattern to the recent terrorist attacks in the Core Worlds - we’re dealing with an organized group.” 

“Could be Hutts, Black Suns, pirates… what makes you think it’s Sith, exactly?” 

Judith grinned - a sharp expression that would send her enemies cowering for cover. “They kriffed up.” 

Yuri gestured at the redhead by his side. “Red here is the genuine article.” 

“Just call me Hapi,” she sighed (by the murderous look on Judith’s face, Claude guessed that was her _actual_ name, not ‘happy.’) “I’m not _really_ a Sith. I’m a failed project who managed to escape when my master got bored of me. But yeah, _she_ was a Sith, no doubt about it.” 

“And _I_ have long suspected a fell influence behind the destruction of my family!” the blonde said, producing a fan to wave dramatically in front of her face. Adrestian accent - her age and appearance - ah, she’d be Constance Nuvelle, supposedly dead for a few years. Looks like the SIS had snatched her up instead.

“My mom was one of them,” the shirtless man added. “She faked her death and went into hiding, but Yu - uh, _Mockingbird_ tracked us down.” 

“The Sith are real. They’re back. And they’ve wormed their way into the governments of the three largest planets in the Fodlan System,” Judith said. “I don’t know _what_ they’re planning, but it can’t be anything good.” 

“If they act like they do in the stories, they’ll want two things. Domination of the Republic… and destruction of the Jedi.” Claude’s mind leapt to the obvious connection. “And if that’s the case, Garreg Mach will be their first target.” 

“Exactly. So _you’ll_ be attending Garreg Mach with the other Leicester padawans.” 

It made perfect sense. They wouldn’t even need to invent a history for him - he’d already been invited to finish his training there. “Backup?”

“Mockingbird and his team are en route. Four new students won’t attack much attention with how many the Enclave brings in this time of year.” 

So they were all Force-sensitive... interesting. The shirtless guy looked a little old for this, but they could just say he was from Leicester; his dear new home planet broke all sorts of rules with its lazy approach to training its Jedi. 

A thought struck Claude. “If the Sith let Hapi get away and didn’t even care, they’ve got a _lot_ of apprentices running around.” 

“Exactly,” Judith said. “Don’t trust _anyone_ at Garreg Mach. Any of the students, hell, the teachers, could potentially be Sith.” 

“I always get the interesting assignments, huh? Got it, Boss. I’ll report in when I remember-” 

“Regularly,” she hissed. “This is the most important operation that we’ve ever-”

“Okay, okay, I was kidding.” He snapped to attention and gave the comm a sharp salute… and turned it off before Judith could yell at him any more. 

* * *

Everyone was prejudiced, of course, but the average person in the Core Worlds dealt with so many different types of aliens that they had to, at the very least, shut up and deal with it. But the Fodlan System was… different. The population was overwhelmingly human, the medieval nobility system was still intact, and despite hundreds of years of membership in the Galactic Republic, the System retained an old-fashioned character. 

Most aliens that came here caught on to the cold shoulder of the three main planets and made their home on the fourth, Almyra, or the fifth, Dagda. Claude's dad was from Almyra, and his parents quickly made the decision to live there themselves. Being half-human wasn’t a big deal _there_ , but coming back to his mother’s home-planet was a whole different beast. 

Leicester was the youngest of the three main planets, having once been a Faerghus colony-world. Its nobility was newer, more informal, and more progressive in a lot of ways... but they were just as prejudiced. He’d decided early on to keep the other half of his heritage quiet. 

Most of his companions accepted him with good grace. Hilda Goneril was smart, but her family was a close ally of the Riegans, and asked no questions of the Ducal heir that had materialized out of nowhere. Lystheia Ordelia and Marianne Edmund were the heirs to more neutral families, but both seemed more interested in their upcoming Jedi training than talking politics. His last classmate, though…

Lorenz Gloucester was the son of his grandfather’s biggest rival. The Count, nakedly ambitious, had clearly expected the death of the Riegan heir to create a power vacuum for him. He was none too pleased when Claude had appeared to fill it.

It was possible that the Sith had already reached into Leicester’s rulers, and Gloucester was one of them. Claude studied his purple-haired classmate carefully, concentrating on the Force. He couldn’t feel anything Dark about Lorenz, but… it was always possible Lorenz was a lot more powerful than he looked, and knew how to hide that sort of thing.

“What are you looking at?” Lorenz asked. 

“You. Your haircut. It’s just _so_ awful, I can’t help myself!” 

Lorenz sniffed, turned up his nose, and marched pointedly away. 

A couple of the Republic soldiers assigned to the ship laughed, quieting down at a glare from their commander. Claude grinned and waved the officer away, then sat down next to the two - privates, going by their insignia. One of them was so large and muscled that Claude wondered if _he_ was entirely human. The other, short and slight, fiddled with a set of cybernetic implants over his eyes.

“Claude Riegan. And you are?” 

“Raphael,” said the big man, shaking Claude’s outstretched hand with enthusiasm.

His companion gasped. “You can’t - Lord Riegan is the most important person in Leicester! _And_ you didn’t follow protocol! My apologies, Sir. I’m Private Victor, and this is-” 

“He’s Raphael,” Claude said pointedly. “I’m Claude. You’re?” 

“Ignatz,” Raphael supplied, clapping the other private on the shoulder. “See, I told ya. My parents always said the Riegans were good people.”

Claude didn’t need the Force to read the twist in Ignatz’s expression (though it helpfully supplied the Empathy anyway, guilt coiling in his own gut in time with the soldier’s). Ignatz said nothing, looking down at his own feet and nervously adjusting his implants. 

“So, you two are joining the Garreg Mach garrison?” 

“Yep,” Raphael said. “Finishing our basic training! What with all those Jedi there, it’s the safest place to train in the whole Galaxy - or that’s what our commander told us.” 

Claude wondered how much longer _that_ would be true, but he didn’t let it show on his face. He just smirked and nodded at the two privates. “Damn right. I’ll keep you both safe.”

“Oh, no, Sir, erm, I mean, Claude - it’s our job to keep _you_ safe,” Ignatz protested.

“Ooh, an impasse. Guess we’ll just have to both watch each other’s backs.” Claude winked at the pair as he stood. 

Some - like that arrogant Lorenz - might say he’d just wasted his time, but Claude knew - both as a spy and a noble - how important friends in low places could be. When shit hit the fan, those two would remember who’d taken a few minutes out of his Important Noble Day to be friendly with them.

Because if Judith was right, it wasn’t a matter of _if_ he was walking into danger - but _when_ he stumbled onto it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY let's talk POC characters in sci-fi/space opera settings. I promise this will be the only time I Do Discourse, TM.
> 
> A lot of those settings tend to use POC actors or coding for their alien species, especially since they're often set after human-on-human racism is obsolete while human-on-alien racism is alive and well (and great for Star Trek metaphors). I don't think Star Wars is particularly offensive in this regard, but it's still present (and it was cool to see so much HUMAN diversity in the ST, especially given how white guy dominated the OT was...) 
> 
> To try to avoid this as an author, I've left almost all the 3H characters as human (you may have noticed Dedue was explicitly so in the previous chapter), and justified it with the Fodlan System being so human-dominated. Some of the non-POC characters will be aliens of the "basically just looks human" variety, including one you'll meet in the next chapter.
> 
> Claude is the only POC character who will be half-alien - because his story, goals, and ideals are so closely tied to the type of prejudice he would experience in a setting, and in Star Wars that is anti-alien prejudice.


	4. Garreg Mach

It was Byleth Eisner’s first year as a full-fledged Jedi Knight. He hadn’t let himself get his hopes up about his assignment - as a Jedi, he would do his duty, and it would be wrong to take _pleasure_ out of it. Still, he couldn’t help but find it odd that the High Council back on Coruscant had reviewed his impressive combat abilities and decided that he was best suited to be… sent right back to the Enclave he’d graduated from.

And not even to coordinate security with the Republic’s military garrison. He was to be a _teacher._

Byleth had his suspicions. Grandmaster Rhea was… different (there was really no other word for it). Flaunting all Jedi protocol, she treated the instructors here like friends, or even (he winced just thinking the word) _family._ And Byleth, product of the union between the famed Knight Jeralt Eisner and Sitri, Rhea’s biological daughter, had been born right into his grandmother’s cloying influence.

He’d known she wouldn’t want to let him go - but he hadn’t expected her power and influence extended so far out of the Fodlan System and into the High Council’s chambers. He wouldn’t make _that_ mistake again. 

His first formal task as an instructor was to meet with the new students and show them to their quarters. Of all people, why him? Byleth had always been particularly good at managing his emotions, even for a Jedi, and his carefully neutral expression didn’t waver as he gave the group a curt greeting.

He could feel a couple of spikes of unease, and saw a couple of the glowing silhouettes waver with the intensity of their emotion. It puzzled him at first, but then he remembered the way some Force-Blinds had once commented on his “creepy” blank stare. 

“Ah yes,” he said calmly. “My father is a Miraluka, you see. I was born with eyes, but they are completely vestigial.” Many of Jeralt's species chose to wear blindfolds, sparing the rest of the galaxy from the sight of their dead eyes or empty sockets, but Byleth felt no need to. The kids were to become Jedi, and they needed to manage their uneasiness a lot better than this if they wanted to make it. 

“But you’re looking right at us,” one of the kids ( _Sylvain Gautier_ was the identity Byleth sensed in his Force) commented, before one of his companions ( _Ingrid Galatea_ ) stepped on his food and chided him for his rudeness. 

“I can ‘see’ you through the Force. That is how all Miraluka perceive the world around them. In many ways, it has its advantages over ordinary sight.” 

“Oh, _that’s_ interesting.” ( _Claude Riegan_ ). “You’ll have to show me that trick sometime, Teach.” 

Byleth simply stared at him before turning on his heel. “My name is Knight Eisner. Not ‘Teach.’ Follow me.” 

Garreg Mach consisted of an ornate Temple, surrounded by a small city, primarily populated by the Republic military garrison and trade delegation. Apparently the rest of the planet was quite rich in natural resources, which Rhea used to her advantage when dealing with government officials. 

If any of the new students had any doubts about Byleth’s ability to ‘see,’ he alleviated it by stepping around a pair of crashed speeders without breaking stride.

“How does it look for you? You don’t _have_ to teach me - I’m just curious.” Claude again, jogging until he was next to Byleth. He was persistent, if nothing else.

“ _There is no ignorance, there is knowledge_ ,” Byleth recited from the Code. “It is good to ask questions. But mind your thirst for information does not become an obsession.”

“Huh? Uh - yeah - I’ll be careful, Teach.” He couldn’t see Claude’s face, but he could _feel_ the smirk. Byleth didn’t correct him again - the nickname had stuck, apparently, and he would simply have to live with it. 

“Every living thing is connected to the Force, even those who cannot use it. And the Force is what I am seeing: inside people, flowing between them and into the world around them.” 

“What about droids? Those speeders? How can you tell the difference between them and, well, nothing?” 

“Mechanical things are not the same as empty space - they are blank spots. No Force at all. I could not tell you what those speeders looked like, but I felt the absence of the Force and moved to the side.” 

“Huh. Interesting. I’ll have to try it out sometime. You never know when you might have to fight through a flash grenade. Or in the dark.” 

“I suppose that is somewhat similar,” Byleth said. Then he lengthened his stride to leave the curious Claude behind him once more. 

* * *

Rhea was waiting for them on the steps of the Temple. Byleth knew she must be at least sixty by now, but had heard others comment that she had no visible signs of aging. He wondered if she was so vain as to cover up the inevitable wrinkles. It would be a most un-Jedi like trait, but it wouldn’t be her first minor sin. 

She was speaking now, welcoming the students to Garreg Mach, reviewing its thousand-year history as the Enclave of the Fodlan System. Byleth was only too eager to break away from them at this point. He climbed the stairs until he was standing with the other instructors, several feet behind Rhea.

Hanneman, Manuela, and Jeritza were all Knights, but each of them had been active for several years before coming to teach here, highlighting the oddity of Byleth’s own situation. On the other hand, Master Seteth had apparently been at Garreg Mach for most of his life. Instead of teaching general groups, he shepherded graduates through the additional training required before they took the Knight Trials. 

“Are the new classes always like this?” Byleth muttered in the Master’s ear. “I did not notice when it was mine.”

“What do you mean?” 

“The emotional connections between the students are _far_ too intense. I only needed fifteen minutes to know that those four from Faerghus should have been split up and sent to different Enclaves. And while they hid it better, I suspect that it is the case for the Adrestian students as well.” 

He felt Seteth purse his lips. “You are not the first to suggest as much, Byleth. For better or worse, the politics of this System override strict Jedi doctrine.” 

“Ah - of course. The nobility of each planet does not want their heirs to leave the System?” he guessed. 

“Precisely. As you say, the students’ pre-existing friendships and rivalries inevitably complicate things for us. But this Enclave has existed for a thousand years, and we have not once lost a student to the Dark Side. We can make it work.” 

Byleth sighed. “Perhaps. But I believe we should be proactive this year. Take that one, Felix Fraldarius… if any of them are tempted, I believe it will be him.” 

Seteth glanced down at the students, then nodded. “Yes, I see it, too. I will speak to him myself this afternoon.” 

“Thank you, Master.” 

“I should thank _you_. That was a keen observation. I know you are not happy to be here, but perhaps it is what the Force chose for you.” 

Byleth thought about protesting, but Seteth could always see through him. His old Master was right - this had _not_ been his first choice, but he should make the best of it. 

But was it truly the Force itself, working through Rhea’s possessiveness to put him on the right path? Or did Rhea’s plotting subvert the Force’s actual will? 

Either way - he was here. And those students needed his help. For the moment, that would be enough. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Byleth isn't carrying Sothis within him in this AU (but Rhea is still hiding something because of course she is). Still, our new explanation for Byleth being a really weird dude is his being such an ideal, emotionless Jedi Knight. 
> 
> * A previous version of this chapter referred to Sitri as the Miraluka, but I've changed my mind on what I want to do with that storyline, so now Jeralt is the blind one.
> 
> * As Byleth said, I'm pretty sure the PT-era Jedi (who thought 9 was too old for training, and leaving Anakin's mother in slavery was a better idea than "distracting" him with attachments) would've immediately split up the Faerghus Childhood Friends group. Obviously for this AU to work, Garreg Mach has to be a lot more chill.


	5. Day 1

Their rooms were small and simple, especially compared to the castles the four of them had grown up in. This was closer to the way proper Jedi did things, Felix supposed. It didn’t bother him - he’d grown up privileged, and could have easily gone soft from it, but he’d always tried his damndest to never let that happen.

Sylvain, by contrast, walked into his room without knocking and immediately started complaining. If that wasn’t annoying enough, Ingrid and Dimitri came in a moment later. Felix glared at them all in turn, but his gaze lingered longest on the prince. His mask had been very good lately. Someone who didn’t know better might assume he was the perfect little Jedi student he was pretending to be.

Felix knew better. He’d seen those blue eyes turn yellow as the Rancor let the Dark Side in, reveling in the power it gave him. 

“- _And_ when I was talking to a girl, you know what she said to me?” 

“How did you _already_ find a girl?” Ingrid groaned.

“Usually, they find me. It’s hard being so charming and handsome all the time,” Sylvain smirked. 

“Go on. What did she say?” Dimitri should’ve known better than to encourage him. Or maybe Felix was the only one to see how predictable his friends’ patterns of behavior were. 

“She _laughed_ at me, like it was a big joke! Then she said ‘oh stop, I know Jedi aren’t allowed to do that sort of thing.’ And then she just walked off!” 

“Are you surprised? Jedi _aren’t_ supposed to do that sort of thing,” Ingrid said severely. 

“Actually, I’m pretty sure the Code just forbids _relationships_ , not casual-” 

“Stop pretending,” Felix interrupted Sylvain. “Nothing about what you do is _casual._ ” 

“Oh yeah?” His friend looked bored, but the act was thin. Besides, Felix could _feel_ what he was really feeling. 

“The rest of the Galaxy isn’t Faerghus, idiot. Nobody cares about our backwater planet’s antiquated nobility enough to chase you for little Gautier bastards. Maybe if you stop hating yourself long enough, you’ll notice it.” 

“Damn,” Sylvain laughed - without a shred of mirth. “What’s gotten into you today?” 

“I’m just sick of your shit,” Felix growled. Ostensibly directed at Sylvain, but he made damn sure Dimitri felt it too. “I’m going to train.” 

It wasn’t an invitation, and he walked out before they could pretend it was. 

Half an hour into his practice - just when he’d worked up a good sweat - he was interrupted by a protocol droid. Felix threw the training swords to the ground in sheer frustration. He couldn’t even be left alone long enough for a real workout to take his mind off things. 

Why did Master Seteth, the second-highest ranking Jedi in the entire Enclave, want to speak to him so soon? And why was it phrased so much like a primary school principal calling a wayward student to his office? 

Sylvain had already been crossing lines - insulting that Knight, flirting with the townspeople. Maybe all four of them would be lectured for it. That would be just _great_. 

So Felix was relieved when the droid showed him into Seteth’s office and he saw that the Master was alone. He’d changed out of the formal purple robe he’d worn for the welcoming ceremony into one that was the simple Jedi brown. 

As Felix sat in front of the desk, he looked around the room, quickly cataloging everything he saw. _Not_ what one would expect from the office of a great Jedi. Some of them upheld the Order’s standards of minimalism; others flaunted trophies and accomplishments. 

Seteth did neither. He collected antiques. 

Felix could only identify the long pole… thing… used for fishing because he’d seen it in a holo-book once. And speaking of books, there were actual _bookshelves_ with tomes made out of paper. _Who still reads like_ that _?_

Seteth steepled his fingers as he looked at Felix. “You must be wondering why I called you here so soon. Don’t worry - you haven’t done anything wrong.” 

“Then why am I here?” He _should_ be more respectful, but he wasn’t feeling up to it. 

“Your Force Bonds,” Seteth said. His expression didn’t change, but his gaze grew somehow… more intense. Piercing.

Felix fought to keep his own expression flat. “What about them?” Of course a great Jedi would immediately notice them, but it still felt… wrong, to have it out in the open like this. On Faerghus, so few people had realized it, and fewer still understood what it meant. 

“It’s natural for connections to form between people who spend time with each other. Masters and their students. Friends. Lovers. Some Jedi will create dozens of these bonds, simply as they exist in the Galaxy. They allow us _faint_ insight into another’s thoughts and feelings.” 

Seteth frowned at Felix. “You, on the other hand... have only three. And you are refusing to form any more. That is not healthy.” 

“No? Aren’t Jedi supposed to avoid attachments?” It came out harsher than he’d intended, but Seteth didn’t seem bothered. 

“We are only human, not emotionless droids. A Jedi can still have friends and people they care for. The Code reminds us not to let such attachments overcome our good sense - it doesn’t tell us to isolate ourselves entirely.”

“You sound like my father,” Felix muttered. 

Seteth let that pass with a wan smile. “I didn’t call you here simply to lecture you about making friends, Felix. When someone has so few bonds, the ones remaining to them will grow all the more intense. I suspect, too, that your Force is particularly inclined to form these connections. Those two factors together explain the depth of your link to Prince Dimitri, Ingrid, and, especially, Sylvain.” 

“ _Especially_?” 

“You can feel his emotions even from here, can’t you?” Damn, Seteth didn’t miss much. “He is over a thousand feet away, and there are over a hundred Force-Sensitives here. A normal bond would be muted to near-silence.” 

“What are you saying?” Felix managed. 

“If I were to attack you right now - a thin cut on your side, perhaps - Sylvain would feel the pain as if my lightsaber had struck _him_ in that very spot. If I were to kill you… well. I believe your bond is so intense that _he_ would drop dead.”

Felix choked out a laugh. He could remember it - he’d never forget it. His first bond had been to his brother. He’d known Glenn was dead before anyone got the news, because he’d _felt Glenn die_. It was as if he’d been right there on Duscur, as if the enemy’s weapon had pierced through his own heart. 

Then he’d felt the terror, the sensation of knowing the wound was mortal. But worst of all, Glenn didn’t die scared. In those final seconds, he’d worked through the fear, like a good Jedi should. He’d died _happy_ and _proud_ that he’d shielded the fucking Prince from the blow. Whenever Felix thought back on it, that was what stuck with him the most.

Sylvain had been visiting them, and Felix had run to him, unable to really explain what was happening, sobbing into his friend’s arms. 

_“Don’t you ever die on me.”_

Sylvain, not really understanding, but sensing Felix’s grief and pain: _“Don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere. We’ll stick together until we die together, okay?”_

That was probably the moment their own bond had formed. Under the circumstances, it wasn’t surprising that it was _too_ strong.

In the years that followed, Felix kept to himself, refusing to let anyone get close again. Losing Glenn had been _more_ than enough. Even his own father was held firmly at arm’s length to avoid another bond. But the Force had other plans, and here he was, compromised with the two people he considered his only friends in the whole Galaxy (and one who _had_ been, another lifetime ago, before he'd seen Dimitri's true self). 

What a joke. He’d never say it to their faces, but losing any one of _them_ would be almost as bad as losing his brother, all over again. 

He was shaking when he finally looked back up at Seteth. The Master said nothing, waiting for Felix to work through it and continue the conversation. 

“So sever it. You can do that, right?” Felix tried not to sound as desperate as he felt. He’d toyed with the idea, but didn’t know how, and it wasn’t a technique the Jedi made easy to study. 

Seteth sighed. “No, I cannot. Not without great pain to you both. And the _best_ case is that both your and Sylvain’s ability to use the Force would be severely wounded. In the worst case… the trauma of losing it might kill you. Or kill only _one_ of you and leave the other in a pitiable state.” 

Felix scoffed. “Why tell me all this if there’s no solution? Just to frighten me?” 

“There _is_ a solution. Stop keeping yourself so closed-off from other people, Felix. Allow connections to your fellow students and teachers to form naturally again. Then, the intensity of your current bonds will decrease.” 

“Not interested,” Felix snapped. 

Seteth sighed. “I feared you might say that. I had hoped you would see reason, but I fear I have no other choice.” 

Felix braced himself for the inevitable discipline. 

“I’m assigning you to work in the greenhouse this evening.” 

Well, _that_ was an odd sort of punishment. He attempted to read Seteth’s true intentions, but the Master had them locked down. He smiled knowingly at Felix and pointed to the door. 

Felix trudged towards the glass building containing the various… plants and things. The chores around here were assigned in pairs, so it was obvious what Seteth was playing at. Requiring him to make another friend, in the hopes he’d let a connection worm its way into his fucked-up Force. 

And… shit. Was that _singing_? 

He immediately realized this was a setup. But how the hell had Seteth known how much Felix loved music? It wasn’t like he went around telling people. Even Sylvain, who had the advantage of that damn over-strong bond, barely realized it. 

He couldn’t deny that he did, though; it marked memories of a better time, listening to his mother and Glenn, both supremely talented, practicing in the study every evening. He and Rodrigue, by contrast, couldn’t carry a tune if their life depended on it. Their estate was so quiet and lifeless, these days… 

That Annette girl, one of the other Faerghus students this year, was in full performance mode as she cheerfully watered the plants. It was obvious she’d made the song up herself - something about how much she wanted to eat cake - and she was literally _dancing_ around as she worked, like some sort of holomovie princess. 

Felix couldn’t help it. He laughed. 

“ _Felix_!” she shrieked, almost dropping everything as she turned. “You- you- were you listening to that?” 

“I heard enough to know you’re hungry. You should go get dinner. I can take over watering the plants.” 

“I’m _not_! I mean, I _am_ , but…” Annette winced. “Please tell me you only _heard_ me and didn’t _see_ me…” 

“You have nice footwork.” 

“YOU’RE EVIL, FELIX!” Face flushed, she shoved the watering implements into his arms and ran off. 

He chuckled, feeling Annette’s presence grow farther and farther away. She was a pretty good singer. Hard to see why she was so embarrassed by it - unless it was because it didn’t fit with her workaholic ideal for herself. That wayward father of hers had really done a number on her self-confidence.

Felix paused.

How the _hell_ did he know anything about Annette’s father? He’d only met her on the flight over. This was literally the first time he’d ever spoken to her. He shouldn’t have this sort of insight. 

Unless… oh. Oh _no_. He’d been played. It wasn’t a bond yet, but his Force and hers were compatible, and _his_ was so starved for another connection that it was already starting to latch on… 

“Fuck you, Seteth,” he muttered, and turned on the plants with a vengeance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Motivation #1 for making this AU: how can I make Felix's backstory even MORE tragic and angsty? 
> 
> * A rancor is that big thing Luke killed via falling gate in Jabba's palace during ROTJ. It even sounds a little like boar.


	6. Night 1

Her master expected regular reports - and expected her to deliver them in total secrecy. The fact that padawans’ rooms didn’t have anything close to privacy was her problem, not his. 

Edelgard quickly dismissed the idea of transmitting from inside the Temple itself. Hubert was an expert at encryptions, but the fact that she was sending regular coded messages would be suspicious in its own right.

Sneaking out at night was _also_ not allowed, but a lot easier to pull off. Some Jedi could even use the Force to disappear from view, though that wasn’t one of her talents. Instead, she gave the patrolling soldiers gentle mental suggestions to turn around and look the other way. Fortunately (for them), the soldiers were well-conditioned to obey the Jedi, and there was no need to break their wills or inflict permanent damage. 

Hubert met her outside. He’d snuck out using more conventional means - a personal cloaking device. They walked together in silence until they were outside the Temple grounds; then Hubert pulled out a screen and stared into it.

“My probe droids aren’t picking up any life-signs. I don’t _think_ we were followed, my lord, but we cannot be too careful.” 

She nodded and held her hand out for the mask. She’d designed it herself, the symbolism purposeful. The Revanite cult had been wiped out long before she was born, but some still remembered what they’d stood for. 

Revan had studied both sides of the Force, unafraid to take techniques from the Light that would increase (his? her?) own power. They’d also successfully infiltrated the Jedi, pretending to have redeemed themselves, only to use their power to strike down the rival Sith who’d turned against them.

The stories said it had been a traitorous apprentice Revan had out-maneuvered, not a master, but still - Edelgard thought it wasn’t a bad example to follow. 

Hubert had set up a small war-station in the forest surrounding the Temple - hiding it under a cloaking device, naturally. There was a communications tower, a droid charging station for all of his spying probes, and even a small shuttlepad in the event that the mission went _very_ south and they needed to move in a hurry. 

“You did all this in one day?” she asked. Hubert had been working for her for years, but sometimes he could still surprise her. 

“Worker droids,” he said with a shrug. “They’re too conspicuous, though. I destroyed them after the job was complete.” 

“Right. Well, we’d better not keep my _dear uncle_ waiting.” 

There wasn’t much to report, so it was all the more annoying that she was expected to go through all of the effort to do so. One day was _hardly_ long enough to get a comprehensive view of the Temple’s defenses. The number of Jedi on-world and the size of the Republic’s garrison were public knowledge. She _had_ learned that the garrison was mostly new recruits and veterans close to retirement - still more than capable of handling pirates and such. 

They didn’t conceive of how woefully inadequate that force would be when Arundel made his move. 

Edelgard had just finished transmitting the report when the Force screamed a warning at her. She grabbed Hubert’s arm, her fingers tapping out a warning in their practiced, silent code: _We are not alone. There’s someone out there…_

Hubert nodded and pressed down on his belt, activating the cloaking device. Edelgard put the mask back over her face and drew up her hood - there’d be no recognizing her now. 

“... told you I can handle myself,” someone said. She couldn't quite place it, but the voice sounded… familiar? 

“Are you kidding? You’re liable to fall asleep standing up and get eaten by some giant jungle spider!” There was no mistaking that shout. “Dad will _kill_ me if I let anything happen to our clan’s top medic!” 

Edelgard muttered a curse and glared at where Hubert was standing, invisible. The Mandalorians had been _his_ idea. 

“Quiet down, will you? If someone’s out here, I don’t want to scare them off.”

“I don’t see _anything_ ,” Caspar said. He managed not to shout, but it would still be a stretch to call it ‘quiet.’ “Are you sure about this?”

“Of course I’m sure. Someone’s out here, and they don’t want to be discovered.” 

“I don’t understand,” Hubert whispered. “We didn’t leave any traces…” 

Before Edelgard could reply, the two Mandalorians passed through the external cloaking shield and were standing right in front of her. Unlike last time, their faces were bare, their helmets under their arms. Caspar looked the type - small scars all over his face, the legacy of various brawls. Linhardt, though… his hair was so long that he’d tied it back in a small ponytail, and his face was smooth and soft, almost childlike. His large, lazy eyes blinked slowly in her direction. 

“A Revanite! Right out of the old stories. Have to admit, I wasn’t expecting _this_.” He stifled a yawn. “Hey, Caspar, what do you think we’ll find if we check that console for outgoing messages?” 

Caspar gave a wolf’s grin and touched one of his gauntlets. A foot-long blade sprang out of it. “I’ll deal with him while you check it out.” 

“Take one step and you’re a dead man.” Hubert materialized from behind Caspar, his own mask in place. His knife’s blade was at Caspar’s throat before the Mandalorian could react. 

“Ugh, this is so _boring_.” Linhardt lifted his hands, surrendering immediately. 

Edelgard blinked at him, unable to help herself. “What kind of Mandalorian are you?” She’d never heard of one going down without a fight. 

“I’m the medic,” he said, as if that was the most obvious answer in the world. “Call off your akk-dog, will you? I can’t stand the sight of blood, and Caspar will behave if I tell him to.” 

“I can handle myself, Lin! I was gonna get him with that repulsor we put in the back of my armor!” 

“He’d still have had _plenty_ of time to cut you open. I’m good, but not _rebuilding your jugular vein_ good.” 

Edelgard and Hubert exchanged glances under their masks. Killing two of her bodyguards was _not_ a good play - they’d have a lot of explaining to do to the rest of the clan, and Mandalorians weren’t easy to fool. But letting them walk out, after what they’d seen, was an unacceptable security risk.

Linhardt sighed. “Look, I’ll save us all a lot of time. _You_ are Edelgard Hresvelg, our employer. You’re one of the Sith, and this is your spy-station to report to your master.”

“You’re mistaken,” she said, the denial too quick and too intense to undo the damage. Where had she gone wrong? What mistake had she made to let this Mandalorian uncover the truth so easily? Hubert would need to _ask_ them, and then - 

“Interrogation? What a pain,” Linhardt said, as if he’d read her thoughts. “Ugh, I didn’t want to have to do this, but I guess I have to explain everything.” 

“Lin, hang on-” 

“I know what you are because of what _I_ am.” He gave her a meaningful look, folded his arms over his chest, and waited. 

Edelgard remembered the sensation she’d had back on Adrestia - that this man was hiding something. And now he’d opened up the armor blocking her senses. She reached out through the Force again -

And removed her mask with a sudden, imperious motion. 

“My lord!” Hubert protested.

“Remove yours as well, Hubert. If the Mandalorians betray us to the Jedi, we’ll destroy them in turn. Because that man-” She pointed at Linhardt. “-is Force-sensitive.” 

Hubert complied, the better to show that his eyes had narrowed to slits. “I thought the Mandalorians rejected the Force.” 

“They _do_. I would guess he’s keeping it a secret, even from his own clan.” 

“You’re a smart one,” Linhardt said with a smirk. “Yes, as far as they know, I’m simply an exceptionally talented medic.” 

Caspar growled. “It’s _dumb_ , is what it is. Who gives a shit about Demagol? It’s been thousands of years! Lin is just Lin!” 

She’d have to look that up later. For now, she pressed her advantage. “And if they found out…?” 

“They wouldn’t _kill_ me. But they _would_ send me away, and honestly, that would be an enormous pain,” Linhardt sighed. “Who wants to sit around meditating when there are so many more _interesting_ things to do?” 

Edelgard’s mind worked quickly through her options. _It seems this Linhardt was entirely self-taught - and not as lazy as he looks. At least, not all of the time._ It would take a powerful and perceptive Force-user to find them out here the way he had. 

“How did you know about the Sith?” 

“I didn’t _sense_ through your cover, if that’s what you’re asking. It was simple logic. Adrestia was hiding _something_ , and who else would bother to infiltrate the Jedi Enclave?”

“And... how do you feel about that?” 

Linhardt shrugged. “Our clan has a contract with you. Whatever you’re planning, we’re honor-bound to support it. Isn’t that right, Caspar?”

“Yeah! We don’t care _what_ you’re planning - we took a job, simple as that.” 

Hubert leaned down to whisper in her ear. “We _do_ have other options. Certain drugs, in combination with your Force abilities, could be used to erase their short-term memory…” 

Edelgard shook her head. “No, Hubert. They’re far more valuable to us with their faculties intact.” She raised her voice to address the Mandalorians. “Inform your Clan Leader about this, and send my apologies for the initial deception. We did not know who to trust, but we have no doubt of Mandalorian honor and loyalty.”

“Are you _certain_ , my lord?”

“Entirely. The clan is a valuable ally. And should another Sith, for example, my master, come along and try to buy you out...”

“We’d tell him where to shove _that_! A contract is a contract!” Caspar said. 

“If - no, you’re both Sith, so _when_ you turn on him - we’ll be with you,” Linhardt added.

Hubert managed to smile. “Ah… forgive me, my lord. I see it now.” 

“This is only the start. When _I_ become lord of the Sith, we will deal fairly with trusted allies - not build our power-base on the backs of cowering slaves.”

“Well,” Linhardt drawled, “at least this job will be _interesting_.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Caspar isn't the type to give a history lesson, but in Legends continuity, Demagol was a mad scientist who conducted brutal experiments in an attempt to create Force-wielding Mandalorian super-soldiers. Harming children is one of the WORST sins for Mandos and his name quickly became the worst curse in their langauge. That, and their past war against the Jedi, contribute to why Linhardt feels the need to hide what he is. 
> 
> * As for Revan, Edelgard's interpretation isn't exactly correct here, but one of the plot points of SWTOR is how the Sith interpret what he/she did one way and the Jedi interpret it another. The Revanites are a faction in the game who initially want to reform the Sith Empire, which seems appropriate for her "Flame Emperor" symbol in this setting.


	7. Days 2-6

To Dorothea’s great frustration, the _Kyphon_ did not dump the noble brats and depart immediately. Ashe accepted Grandmaster Rhea’s offer to stay for a night, which had become a week. Then, worst of all, their captain had returned with a smile on his face. 

That damn smile. They could never say no to it, but it always meant Ashe had found a job that would be “the right thing” and also “not pay very well.” 

“You are not happy,” Petra observed the following morning. It was just the two of them, running through the maintenance checklist. Ashe and Leonie were making arrangements at the Enclave, though Dorothea suspected Leonie was also interested in tracking down that Jedi Knight she never stopped talking about, the one who’d saved her city from a pack of pirates when she’d been a kid. 

“Not really,” she admitted. There was little point trying to hide things from Petra’s piercing gaze. “I wish the Captain hadn’t taken this job.” 

“It will be easy work. There’s little danger in bringing basic supplies to a Jedi Enclave.” 

“True, _that_ part is a nice change, but… I just don’t like the Jedi, you know?” 

“I don’t know,” Petra said matter-of-factly. She set down the hydrospanner and faced Dorothea, one eyebrow raised. “But I’ll listen if you want to talk.” 

“That’s unfair. You know I can never say no to _you_ ,” Dorothea said, though the flirty line landed as it usually did - sailing over Petra’s head. Huttese was such an ugly language, and simply _awful_ to flirt in. Or maybe Petra was just that oblivious. 

“I hate the Jedi,” she admitted after a moment. “I always have.” 

“Why is that?” 

“You know I was in an orphanage, before…” Before she’d been sold off to the Hutts, but she _never_ talked about what happened during those awful years. “One of them showed up one day. He could see how terribly they treated us, but he was only there for one of the kids. The rest of us, the ones who didn’t have the damn Force? Couldn’t care less. Just walked out and left us there.” 

“Oh, I see. The Jedi talk about serving the Galaxy, but you are saying they only care about the Force,” Petra mused.

“Hypocrites, the lot of them. That’s why I like dealing with criminals - at least they’re _honest_ about only being out for themselves,” Dorothea sighed. 

Luckily, the _Kyphon_ always needed plenty of work. She’d avoid going out unless she absolutely had to - she wasn’t sure she could pretend to respect a Jedi to their face.

* * *

“Hubert!” Ferdinand cried, in his best _demanding noble_ voice. 

“Yes, my lord?” Hubert was at his side a moment, greeting him with a short bow. 

It was for the sake of appearances, no more and no less. They’d invite suspicion if Adrestian nobility treated their own servants with too much deference. Bernadetta - bless her heart - was utterly incapable of concealing her obvious fear of Hubert (though at least, her obvious fear of _everyone else_ meant he didn’t stand out, especially), so the task fell to Ferdinand.

It wasn’t like he _enjoyed_ the mental exercise of inventing menial tasks, the kind that could have been handled by any protocol droid, and then wearing out his voice shouting for Hubert to come and do them instead.

Okay, maybe he enjoyed that part. A little. 

The best part was Hubert’s eyes. The man was an excellent actor - he was a spy, after all - but his servant’s expression never did _quite_ extend to his eyes. Those glared in Ferdinand’s direction, practically promising to waylay him as soon as this mission was over, and probably drive a knife between his ribs.

 _At least it will give us a reason to keep seeing one another when the mission is over_ , Ferdinand thought. Life was just more interesting with Hubert around. Even if - perhaps _because?_ \- they hated one another so much. 

“Your morning tea, my lord,” Hubert was saying.

“Ah, thank you, Hubert. Did you poison it this time?” 

“Who’s to say? The Princess did want me to keep you on your toes.” 

“Very well,” Ferdinand grumbled, and reached out with the Force to check the beverage for whatever toxin Hubert had inevitably slipped inside it. 

* * *

Being Jedi wasn’t a religion, per se, but the interior of the Temple had the kind of quiet, calm power that centers of worship so often did. Dimitri made a point of coming here for his morning meditation. It would be easier to focus… easier to ignore the voices in his head and the ghosts that danced in front of his eyes.

(They said communicating with the dead was a great gift, even for those powerful in the Force. _They_ didn’t have to live with the reality of what that meant). 

Despite the early hour, he wasn’t alone; a girl with blue hair, one of the Leicester padawans, was seated in the meditation pose. Dimitri tried to move quietly, but didn’t manage it, knocking a holocron to the ground when attempting to squeeze past a row of them. He winced at the sharp _crack_ it made hitting the floor. 

The girl’s eyes flew open. She stared at him with obvious unease. 

“Ah, I’m sorry for disturbing your meditation-” He cast about for her name, not so much drawing on the Force as long training in the polite formalities expected of the Prince. “-Marianne.” 

“There’s no need to apologize, I was just leaving,” she said quietly, though Dimitri didn’t need the Force to tell him that was an obvious lie.

“No, no, you were here first. If you’d rather be alone, I should find another place-”

“I _would_ rather be alone,” Marianne said, with a sudden edge in her voice. “You would do well to keep your distance from me.” 

He blinked at her, nonplussed. It wasn’t a threat, clearly; but what could she possibly mean by that? “I apologize, but… what are you talking about?” 

“There is only misfortune for anyone who comes near me,” she said, twisting her hands together in agitation. “Don’t tell me I’m being dramatic - I _see_ it!” 

_Now_ it made sense. Clairvoyance - a rare gift in the Force, though those who _could_ see the future might argue it was closer to a curse. The look in Marianne’s eyes told him where _she_ stood on the matter. 

“Do you _see_ danger for me if I spend too much time with you?” Dimitri guessed.

“Yes,” she murmured, not meeting his eyes. “It’s not clear, but… I can feel pain, loneliness, suffering... temptation, from the Dark Side...” 

Dimitri laughed, but he could tell it didn’t come out right, because it was Marianne’s turn to look at him in confusion. “That is my fate with or without any influence of yours, I assure you. Maybe it’s you who should fear being near _me_.” 

For some reason, _that_ made her smile. “You have a burden of your own. I can feel it.” 

He nodded. She wasn’t pressing him for details on his ability, and he didn’t give them, but he could feel that she understood him. “And that... amuses you?”

“Sorry, it’s just… It’s strange… to think a prince like you could have something in common with someone like me.” Now she was blushing, which made him uncomfortable for a reason he couldn’t quite describe.

“Well.” He cleared his throat. “My father once told me that the future is always in motion. That we can change our own fate. Perhaps getting to know you will be lucky, rather than the curse you assume.” 

“Maybe,” Marianne said, clearly skeptical, but no longer pushing him away. “Sorry - I did lie before. I’m _not_ done. But you can join me, if you’d like.” 

“I’d like that,” Dimitri said, settling on the floor beside her.

For the first morning in a long time, the ghosts were quiet. 

* * *

“... And you’re sure this is a compendium of _every_ sentient species in the galaxy? Perhaps your archives are incomplete,” Claude said.

Garreg Mach’s Archivist, some old Jedi named Tomas, gave him a look that could curdle blue milk. “Impossible. Copies of every text across the entire Order have been collected here, under my _personal_ supervision.” 

Claude waited until Tomas had left him, then dug back into his work.

Something about Rhea, Seteth, and the Master’s younger sister didn’t sit right with him. They _looked_ human (albeit with green hair), but the Force was trying to tell Claude something, and when it pulled at his attention like this, he tended to listen. So he was operating under the assumption that they were _not_ human.

The trouble was: he’d run thousands of searches in the library’s computer, but there was simply no species that matched the physical description of the trio. It was a big galaxy out there - it was impossible for even the Jedi to catalogue _everything_. But there was a more sinister possibility: that Rhea had deleted the data herself.

 _Why would she hide something like that_? Claude asked himself, then smirked at the irony of the secret half-alien trying to break open someone else’s _very_ similar secret. 

Inspiration struck - it wasn’t _just_ green hair. All three of them wore that hair long, concealing their ears and the tops of their heads. Perhaps there was some telltale feature there - hidden horns, like a Zabrak’s? But how would he get close enough to have a look? (He refused to seduce Flayn - some things were crossing the line. Though, maybe he could seduce Seteth...) 

An unwelcome voice jolted him from plotting his next move. “Claude! _There_ you are.”

“Lorenz,” Claude said, suppressing an instinct to groan and fixing the noble with a fake smile instead. (It would annoy him much more). “What can I do for you?” 

“You can be _on time_ for our first lecture from Knight Hanneman!” Lorenz said. “It won’t do for Leicester to be out-shone by our rivals. And I expect the Prince and Princess will be prompt, so we wouldn’t want our Duke to be _late_.” 

“Why, thank you, Lorenz. I’m glad I know I can count on you - and that there’s no hard feelings about my sudden appearance.”

The other noble sniffed. “Do you take me for a HoloNet conspiracy theorist? Obviously you’re legitimate, but it does _not_ mean I trust you. I will be keeping a very close eye on you and making _quite_ sure that you represent our planet with proper decorum.”

That sounded exhausting. And really annoying, since Claude had a lot of _private_ research to do - plus his spying for the SIS and reports to Judith. But if there was one thing he’d learned about Lorenz over the past few days, the man was damned persistent, and wouldn’t be easy to shake off.

Ah, well… what was life without a few complications to keep it interesting?

* * *

On the first weekend, when the lectures had finally ended, Ingrid wasted no time heading straight for the Temple’s garage. She’d not had a chance to fly something for almost a week, and was eager to spend her first bit of free time getting back into the air.

Her father had explained once that Jedi were not just warriors - their Force enhanced reflexes and intuition made them excellent at more mundane tasks, too; great mechanics, skilled interpreters, or- often the case in the Galatea line - very skilled pilots. Ingrid, feeling the burden of being the sole Force-Sensitive of her generation, trained hard at all aspects of it - but it was the flying that she really _enjoyed_. 

Sylvain promised to fly with her, but he still wasn’t there at the appointed time. She didn’t wait around - it tended to be even odds if her childhood friend would _actually_ keep a promise, or get distracted by flirting with someone. She’d thought he might have a difficult time finding targets _here_ of all places, but she’d clearly underestimated him.

When Ingrid went to claim a speeder, she saw she wasn’t alone. A boy with grey hair and prominent freckles was surveying the vehicles. She could sense that he wasn’t a Jedi, and also felt his easy confidence with the speeders.

“Oh! I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there,” he said, once she stepped inside the garage. He sank into a quick bow, his long blue coat rippling behind him. “I’m Ashe Duran, captain of the _Kyphon_.”

“Ingrid Galatea, one of the students here,” she said in turn. She wasn’t sure how to feel about the bowing thing - it wasn’t like she lorded it over the Force-Blinds back on Faerghus. People were people. 

“Ah! Excellent,” Ashe said. “Grandmaster Rhea just gave me a contract to supply the Enclave. I was examining the speeders to see if any need to be replaced.” 

Ingrid turned to the row of vehicles, letting the Force speak to her. She pointed to one on the far end. “Most of them are fine, but that one’s engine is on its last legs.” 

“Oh wow, you can tell just by looking at it? That’s amazing,” the captain said. He bent over the vehicle, opening a panel with practiced ease. “Yep… you’re right. This is an old model, too. It’d be cheaper to replace it outright, I think.” 

“The rest _feel_ fine, but, you know, there’s only one way to make sure. I was about to take one out. See how it handles.” 

“Hmm, well, there are two main models here. It would be most efficient if you take one of the Corellian speeders and I try the Kuat. Maybe we could even… see which of us can fly it faster?” 

Ashe had a nice smile, she thought. Even better, there was just a hint of steel under it. He was confident in his flying ability, and he’d give her a good race. 

“You’re on,” Ingrid said with a fierce grin of her own.

* * *

_Ugh. Keep it to yourself_. Felix aimed the words towards Ingrid as he walked past the garage. He didn’t need to be distracted by her thinking about how nice some boy’s smile was; he had training to do. 

She replied, not so much with words but the sensation of a raised middle finger and stuck-out tongue. Felix had to chuckle at that. She always behaved so _properly_ in public, but in the refuge of the friend quad’s mental conversations, there were times when she could be as childish as Sylvain. 

And besides, he wasn’t _actually_ mad. Ingrid hadn’t been _with_ anyone since Glenn, and he’d died over four years ago. He was glad she was starting to move on - at least a little. 

Felix hoped he’d be alone on the training grounds - surely the other padawans would at least go get lunch first, or something. Unfortunately, someone had beaten him there, and was already running through a training program with the combat droids. As he retrieved a couple of training swords, he examined her out of the corner of his eye.

She wasn’t using a vibro-weapon or a lightsaber. Instead, she whirled a long pole of some kind. Electricity crackled at both ends of the staff, along with what he could tell was some sort of localized repulsor field.

Huh. In theory, with a strong enough field, that thing could block a lightsaber. Which made it all the more unusual that the red-haired girl was _not_ Force-Sensitive. You didn’t often see Blinds fighting in melee range like that, and if they did, they _never_ tried to take on Jedi. 

Felix waited for her routine to end before walking over to her. 

“Thanks for waiting! I’m Leonie,” she said. Her hair was far too short to get in her eyes - he appreciated the practicality of it. “I’ll be here all afternoon. Too bad there’s only one set of droids. Want to trade off?” 

“Felix. Sure,” he said shortly, taking his position in the center of the ring.

A screen marked how many hits he scored against the droids, and compared it to Leonie’s score. Felix felt he’d had one of his better rounds, so it was all the more surprising when he looked up afterwards and saw that he’d only beaten her by a couple of points. 

“Nice!” she said. “I’ll have to work even harder to surpass you, huh.”

Felix paused. This was the time for a sensitive touch. In the long-term, she was just wasting her time with that electro-staff thing. 

“You won't ever surpass me. You’re Force-Blind." 

Leonie scowled at him. “I’ll have you know I was trained by Knight Jeralt Eisner. I can _definitely_ take on a Jedi.”

Well, he was committed now. Might as well stick to the hard truths. “Not a chance. There’s a reason non-Sensitives mostly stick to ranged weaponry. Your reflexes and speed are never going to be on my level - not without the Force. Melee combat is just suicide in a real fight.”

“Oh yeah? Maybe you want to put your credits where your mouth is.” 

“Fine.” He was always better with a blade than his words. Maybe she’d get what he was saying if he defeated her soundly enough. 

They retreated to opposite ends of the field. Felix noticed her fiddling with something on her gloves, but paid it no mind. He’d close the distance quickly, and none of the tricks she was planning would matter.

He saw the arc of the flash grenade before she’d even thrown it, dodging it with a sneer. At least until he stepped into the second one. The one she’d set up before he’d even reached his corner of the field.

Before he could blink the spots out of his vision, she gave him a good whack of the electrostaff, knocking him to the ground.

Most people might’ve gotten upset. Felix just laughed.

“Okay. Have to admit, I wasn’t expecting that.” 

She helped him up, matching his grin with one of her own. “I didn’t _only_ train with Knight Jeralt. Those Mandalorians who showed up with Princess Edelgard gave me a couple of pointers yesterday, too.”

“Mandos, huh? Yeah, if anyone knows how to fight Jedi, it’s them.” Felix wondered if he’d be able to convince any of _them_ to spar. Probably not - they took all their secret techniques for fighting Jedi pretty seriously, constantly preparing for what was, in their minds, the inevitable next war against them. (He knew he shouldn't, but part of Felix would welcome that war - the ultimate test of his skills). 

“Yep. They said a Jedi could sense just about anything we try to do to them. So the idea is to overwhelm ‘em with the sheer volume of tricks and traps! Even _your_ senses have a limit.” 

“It wasn’t a fair fight, but you’ll never be in a fair fight. Not with a Jedi. You won, which is all that matters,” he said. “And taught me a lesson about over-confidence in the bargain. Thanks, Leonie.” 

“No problem! Pay me back by training with me. You’re way tougher than these droids,” she said brightly. 

“Same to you. It’s a deal.” 

* * *

Bernadetta _should_ have gone straight back to her room once the lecture was over. The door didn’t really lock, but it was way better than being out in _public_. Every time one of the Masters or Knights looked at her, she was certain they’d see right through her pretense, call her out as the Sith she was, and throw her a cell to rot.

 _You’re not a good spy. Or good at_ anything _, really. Oh, how did you let them talk you into this, Bernie?_

So yeah, she _should_ have run away to relative privacy. But something stopped her. It was that white-haired girl from Leicester, Lystheia. She was the youngest student in their class, but there was something else… 

Ah, that was it! The way she’d used the Force during the practical demonstration. There was something _wrong_ with it. It was so obvious that even someone as dumb and unobservant as her could see that! But why hadn’t Manuela said anything? 

_Unless…_ Bernie put a hand to her mouth. _Unless it’s only obvious to_ me _, because it was a Sith technique!_

Could Lystheia have been sent by that super-scary Darth Arundel? No, that wasn’t it - Hubert would have known about _that_. 

Her curiosity got the better of her, and she followed, slinking from pillar to pillar. It was risky, but she tried to sense the other girl’s Force as she did it. 

No hint of the Dark Side. She was strong, really strong. It wouldn’t be out of the question for her to be hiding it. But no, it didn’t feel anything like that, really. It was more like her mind had… a problem. Like a puzzle with half its pieces missing. 

“Hey!” Lystheia yelled. Bernadetta shrieked and jumped about three feet in the air.

“I’msorrydon’tkillme!”

“Why are you following me?” Lystheia was even shorter than her, but somehow cut a much more imposing figure, glaring at her with arms folded. 

“No reason! I mean, it was an accident! Uh, forget you saw me!” Bernie shouted, and _ran_ before Lystheia could blink. (If there _was_ one thing she had always been very good at, it was drawing on all of her Force to run away from things at inhuman speed!) 

She had to find Edelgard! If her senses hadn’t been deceiving her… Lystheia had been trained by the Sith, and then they’d wiped her memory. She couldn’t even begin to think why they’d done that… but whatever the reason, it couldn’t be _good_ for them. 

* * *

Sylvain _meant_ to keep his word to Ingrid and meet her by the speeder garage. His friends would never believe him, but he headed right there after the lecture - he would’ve been early, even! But then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Mercedes, and he just _had_ to follow her.

Not for any untoward reason, though she was very pretty. It was more about how weird she’d been acting today. She hadn’t paid any attention to what Knight Jeritza had been saying to their class, and yet... she couldn’t take her eyes off him. Such an unusual expression on her face, too, her eyes distant and far away. It was a wonder nobody else had commented on it. 

Okay, maybe Sylvain had only noticed because he’d been busy sizing up all the female padawans for the entire lecture instead of listening, himself. 

His suspicions were confirmed when she looked carefully around her before ducking under the perimeter barrier and into the surrounding forest. Now why would a usually good girl like that be sneaking off like _this_? Perhaps a romantic liaison. Sylvain hadn’t thought she was the type, but you never could tell…

Sneaking around wasn’t _his_ strong suit, but Mercedes showed no sign of noticing him as she walked serenely through the forest. She stepped into a small clearing, where Sylvain saw someone waiting for her…

Knight Jeritza! Of course. Maybe she’d been distracted by a crush on the teacher. In which case, he had to admire how quickly she’d arranged for this.

He strained to hear what they were talking about, but even with the Force he couldn’t manage it. He could tell from their body language alone that it was hardly romantic, though. Mercedes’ tone was urgent, and she was doing most of the talking. Jeritza shook his head, frowned, responded in short bursts.

A few minutes later, the Knight pulled up his hood and walked away. Mercedes watched him go for a while, then turned, walking back towards the Enclave grounds. Sylvain made haste to press himself up against the tree and hide in its shadows.

“Sylvain,” a gentle voice chided him. He flinched, seeing that Mercedes was standing right in front of him, a small smile on her face.

“Uhhh… hey, Mercedes! You’re looking lovely, as always.” 

“You followed me out here.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yep! I couldn’t help myself. You’re beautiful, and I just can’t take my eyes off your-” 

Mercedes rolled her eyes at him. “I don’t know what you thought you saw, but we’re keeping it between us, right? Surely I can count on you to be a gentleman, Sylvain.” 

“Oh, of course... Anything for a lady.” 

She smiled and put a hand on his face, drawing it towards hers. Sylvain didn’t resist, letting whatever was going to happen, happen. But when their eyes were locked on one another’s, she intoned: “ _You don’t remember the last ten minutes_.” 

Hang on… that was a mind trick! Sylvain realized it a split second too late to mount any defense. Her own will - quiet, gentle, but thrumming with steely determination - washed into his mind and pushed into his thoughts. 

Several seconds later, his eyes snapped back into focus. Why the hell was he standing out here in the forest by himself? He’d come out here for some reason… but for the life of him, he couldn’t remember what it was. 

_And_ he was hopelessly late for his meeting with Ingrid. Oh well - no point turning up _now_ and getting yelled at. He stuck his hands in the pockets of his robe and sauntered back into the Enclave, confident in his ability to find some trouble to amuse himself with. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a bunch of mini-scenes I really wanted to happen but didn't seem worth their own chapter. I'll probably use this format a few times to mark the passage of time, because it was quite fun to keep jumping around for shorter check-ins with the characters.


	8. Ilum

The rest of the first week passed uneventfully for Edelgard - certainly, there’d been no repeat of a pair of Mandalorians walking straight into her and Hubert’s carefully arranged plans and scattering them to pieces. 

(And though it hadn’t been her choice to bring them into her confidence, at least the pair had kept their word - no Jedi Knights hauled her away in Force-dampening handcuffs, and the Mandalorian clan leader sent a short and cryptic message that their contract was intact). 

But _today_ would be an utter waste of time. Luckily, the Jedi had bought their lie about Adrestia training being different, and padawans building lightsabers at a younger age. _Unluckily_ , the three of them were still forced to come along on this offworld trip to the ice-planet of Ilum, where everyone else would be selecting a kyber crystal, the first stage of building their own lightsaber.

“It’s ridiculous,” she complained to Hubert. They were in her room, packing for the trip. “Lightsabers are a tool - nothing more.” 

“Of course. But the Jedi are certainly sentimental about their weapons. I apologize; I should have anticipated this.” 

“No matter. At least you can stay here and continue our preparations.” 

Hubert frowned. “My lord… I still don’t like the idea of leaving you alone.” 

She rolled her eyes. “I can take care of myself. _And_ we’ll be traveling with a full contingent of Knights from the Enclave. They’re more than capable of handling any trouble.”

“It’s not random pirates that concern me. _Someone_ might see all of this year’s padawans - including the heirs to three powerful planets - in one place, and act rashly.” 

Edelgard considered this. _Someone_ was, of course, her master. It would be typical of him to have more than one plot, interlocked together. He’d also be more than willing to sacrifice her if it suited him. But she couldn’t see how that would benefit him at this early stage. Arundel wanted Grandmaster Rhea’s head - and he wanted her ignorant until he destroyed her whole Enclave in one stroke. If anything happened during the Ilum trip, Rhea would be on the lookout for hidden knives, rather than complacent and vulnerable. 

“I don’t think that’s likely. But if the worst should happen, Ferdinand will be more than willing to put his life on the line to protect me.” 

Hubert scowled with a little more intensity than usual, and she hid a smile behind one gloved hand. She’d obviously noticed Ferdinand’s game with Hubert, but hadn’t lifted a finger to save her spymaster from it. “He will be a very _loud_ distraction, if nothing else.” 

* * *

She’d been avoiding him for the entire week, but on the cramped shuttle, it couldn’t be helped. 

“Edelgard!” He’d grown _much_ taller, but it was otherwise the same overly-formal Dimitri that stood before her. Those same three friends fanned out behind him, too. She didn’t see the Duscurian bodyguard that had been his constant companion back at the Enclave. Like her, he’d probably been discouraged from bringing a Force-Blind to the Jedi’s sacred site. 

“Dimitri,” she said levelly. “Fraldarius. Gautier. Galatea.” 

“Wow, only he’s on a first-name basis, huh?” Gautier winked at her. Edelgard had his measure, though; if he was _just_ the silly flirt he appeared to be, Dimitri wouldn’t hold him in such high regard.

“Naturally. He is my step-brother.”

“Still! You weren’t this formal when we were all kids, playing in the castle.” 

“Many things can change as we grow older,” she said severely. 

She remembered that summer well enough - the final visit to another planet, before the Sith training had dominated her life. She remembered everything, but with a detached, clinical eye, as if it had happened to someone else. The weakness of _family_ and _friends_ was one of the first thing Arundel’s torture had made clear.

If Dimitri had been in those Korriban tombs, Arundel would have cut his throat, just to make her watch. Just to teach her a lesson. Her brothers and sisters-

“Leave her alone, Sylvain,” Galatea said, the sigh in her voice speaking of just how often she had to police the older boy.

“We’ve all changed,” Fraldarius muttered - though he spoke loud enough to push all four of them into a brief, awkward, silence.

“Well,” Dimitri said, with an effort at cheerfulness, “Despite that, it is good to see you again.”

“We exchanged messages for years,” Edelgard reminded him. “You _saw_ me plenty of times.” It had been expected, and Arundel had encouraged her to continue the correspondence as if they were actually friends. But almost everything from her side had been a lie. 

“A holographic facsimile! Nothing I could truly _talk_ to.” 

“I almost forgot your odd distaste for any technology that might make your life easier. Monarchy is a relic of the ancient times, but that doesn’t mean _you_ have to be.”

“Oh yeah, tell me about it. I caught him trying to write a _letter_ once. On _paper_ ,” Gautier added, with a smirk. 

“Really? Well, that’s just the sort of personal touch that your subjects will appreciate when you are King of Faerghus,” Edelgard said, making the backhanded compliment clear. Of course it sailed over the prince’s head, but both Gautier and Fraldarius shot sour gazes at her.

Their conversation wasn’t as private as she’d like, given the small space. Two of the Leicester padawans approached them. One had a rose set at his lapel, which looked completely ridiculous against the Jedi’s plain brown robes. 

“Lorenz Gloucester, at your service. I hoped to introduce myself to-”

“Yeah yeah,” his companion said, interrupting him with an easy wave. “Rub elbows later, Lorenz. I wanna hear more about little El and little Dima. I never realized this was a family reunion!” 

“Claude,” Dimitri groaned. 

Ah, he was the mysterious Riegan heir, then. Edelgard looked him up and down. A cheery grin, but there was something just slightly _off_ about it. Claude wore masks, and he was damn good at it. She’d need to be careful around him - he clearly had his own agenda in coming here, but what was it? 

“There’s no secret about it, Riegan. My mother was one of the royal concubines, well rewarded once she’d done her duty and produced an heir. Later, she wed the King of Faerghus and became Dimitri’s step-mother.”

He winked, and she realized he’d already known that. He was just needling them for their reactions - and he’d gotten them, in her cold explanation of the situation, contrasted to Dimitri’s unwillingness to speak about it. 

Dimitri always _had_ considered her closer family than she did, him - even _before_ the Sith changed everything. 

* * *

Like most Sith, Edelgard hadn’t made her own lightsaber. As a final test, she and the rest of Arundel’s prospects had been thrown into an ancient tomb. The long-dead Sith Lord had been buried with his lightsaber, and their task was to find it. The one who emerged victorious would be Arundel’s apprentice. 

She hadn’t needed to kill the other prospects - not that she was unwilling to, but it was more efficient to let them blunder on ahead. Soon, their corpses lined the tomb's traps, allowing her to walk in and claim the prize. 

She was an excellent duelist, and the fact that the lightsaber had been made for someone else, all those centuries ago, didn’t slow her down. But the Jedi took a different view of things. Here on Ilum, each padawan selected a crystal that called to them, specifically. That crystal would then be set into their eventual lightsaber. 

In theory, it made them stronger. In practice - well, the Sith had done well enough in the ancient wars without befriending their weapons, had they not? 

“Where did you three find your crystals? They don’t feel as though they are from Ilum.” 

Bernadetta squeaked, but Edelgard and Ferdinand faced Knight Eisner calmly. Still, the man’s gaze was unsettling - not because he was blind, but because he could _see_ entirely too much for her liking. 

“They’re not. One of Adrestia’s moons grows a small amount,” she lied. It came out smoothly - she’d practiced it long enough.

“I see.” Byleth’s expression was truly unreadable. “No doubt you’re wondering why we brought you here, despite already being armed.” 

“The thought had crossed my mind, but I’m sure there’s a good reason,” Ferdinand said, with practiced deference. 

“There is. Rhea believes that Ilum is our most sacred site, and thinks it probable that you’ll find crystals you have an even greater affinity for.” Now his blind gaze was _truly_ unsettling. Had she truly done enough to hide the origin of their lightsabers? 

Either way, they’d do well to participate in the silly exercise, since it seemed to be expected of them. Edelgard nodded, and beckoned for Ferdinand and Bernadetta to follow her deeper into the icy caverns. 

They passed Dimitri and the other three, bent over an outcropping of blue-shaded crystals. It seemed Galatea had already taken one from this grouping, and the prince’s hand hovered over another. 

“Wouldn’t _red_ be more appropriate for you?” Fraldarius said with a sneer. 

“Felix, please,” Dimitri said, the hurt obvious in his voice. 

“Now _that_ was interesting,” Ferdinand muttered in her ear, once they were well past the four and out of even Force-enhanced hearing range.

“Agreed… Once we return, see what you can get out of Fraldarius. Hubert says he spends almost every afternoon training; duel him and see if that loosens his tongue.”

“I-I can… talk to Sylvain,” Bernadetta volunteered.

Edelgard and Ferdinand exchanged looks. “I appreciate your offer to help, but there’s no need to subject yourself to his so-called flirting just because I’m curious about this.”

“Oh! Oh no. It’s not like _that_. Nobody wants me,” she said, and before Edelgard could admonish her for the self-deprecation, she quickly added: “Only, I saw that he visits the same… s-some of the same... HoloNet sites as me. Never mind which ones!!” 

“Ah, well, naturally, that is a private matter,” Ferdinand said smoothly. “So you’ll let him discover your mutual interest and strike up a conversation that way? Well done! I told you that you would succeed in this role!” 

Edelgard would have chided him for speaking so loudly, but she was now only half-listening. Something else was tugging at her awareness. At first, it was like a whisper, but it grew in intensity and took on a more demanding tone.

She moved away from her companions and towards the source of the other presence. Another outcropping of kyber crystals, but this one was a shade she’d never even conceived of: a smooth shade of silver. And one of the crystals, one in particular, was calling her name. As if it was a living thing, and… as if she and the crystal were friends. 

When she picked it up in her hand, it felt more natural than breathing. She didn’t like to admit it, but… maybe the Jedi were right. Once this was set into her lightsaber, she could tell her weapon would be _hers_ in a way it had never been before. The centuries of Sith domination had eroded any ‘will’ that the red crystal had ever had - it was no partner, but a slave. 

Half an hour later, Ferdinand (orange) and Bernadetta (purple) had come to the same conclusion. A simple saber forge in the very end of the network of ice-caves allowed them to make the swap then and there. Outside of the sabers, the three old red crystals were washed of color and… sickly, somehow. _Wrong_. 

Edelgard gathered them and threw them into a chasm. Their coloring couldn’t be explained away - better that the Jedi never saw them again. 

They were walking back towards the group when it happened. The caverns, already dimly lit, were abruptly plunged into total darkness. Edelgard reflexively activated her new saber, a silvery-white light surrounding her immediate area; her companions did the same, allowing them at least a few feet of visibility.

Byleth’s voice was suddenly in her mind. _It appears we are under attack. Stay calm. If you are unarmed, please conceal yourselves. If you brought a weapon, meet me at the mouth of the cave._

It hadn’t been personalized to her. He’d spoken to the entire class at once, then - _that_ was an impressive feat of Force. 

“Was this part of the plan? You didn’t tell me,” Ferdinand hissed.

Edelgard shook her head. “No… but it _does_ smell like Arundel.” 

The impatient fool - why go to all the trouble of installing her as a spy if he was going to show his hand so hastily? She had no doubt the attackers today would be mere hired marauders, but it was too suspicious. _Pirates_ didn’t know how to find Ilum, and even if they did, there was no reason to come here, nothing to loot.

“We must do as Knight Eisner says, and quickly. It would be entirely too suspicious if we did not fight.”

Pandemonium greeted them at the mouth of the cave. Explosives had collapsed the entrance behind them. Her guess had been correct - a ragtag group of pirates and a handful of battle droids. A pathetic attempt… 

Unless Arundel had done all this for her to ‘prove’ her loyalty to the Jedi. It was still too risky, but at least that made a kind of _sense_.

Byleth wielded his green saber in one hand, effortlessly deflecting any blaster bolt that came his way. A couple of the Leicester padawans stood behind him. The white-haired Lystheia - the one Bernadetta had warned her about - made quick, angry gestures, each one smashing a droid to pieces in a wave of Force. And Claude… he was just firing away with a blaster in each hand. He didn’t even take the time to aim, but not one of the shots missed. 

Edelgard and Ferdinand leapt into the fray (literally - covering about twenty feet in a single bound). Their new sabers made quick work of the pirates. By unspoken agreement, both struck to kill. It wouldn’t do for any of them to survive and be interrogated by the Jedi. 

Byleth sighed as he deactivated his weapon. “Thank you all. _That_ was unexpected.”

“Yeah… didn’t think pirates would have much interest in Ilum,” Claude mused. He gave each blaster a final flourish, then they disappeared under his robe. 

Byleth examined the rubble. “It shouldn’t be too difficult to push my way out, but it will be time-consuming. Please stand back.” 

“I don’t know many Jedi who know how to shoot like that,” she commented, once they’d retreated to a safe distance.

“Ah, well, I’ve had a very interesting life before I got stuck inside meditating. I’ll tell you about it sometime,” Claude said airily. They both knew he wouldn’t. “What do you think about the attack, princess?” 

“You’re not wrong. Pirates have no reason to attack this place. They were obviously proxies for someone else’s agenda, but I confess I can’t think of what that might be.” 

“You can’t think of who might hate the Jedi and their sacred place? What about the Sith?” 

Bernadetta squeaked in surprise, but recovered valiantly into fear: “ _Sith_? Oh, oh no, I’m gonna die!” 

“I didn’t think you believed in fairy tales, Claude,” Ferdinand said. “The Sith have been extinct for thousands of years.” 

“Yes - please stop trembling, Bernadetta. There’s no reason to be frightened of something that doesn’t exist.” 

“Yeah, that’s what they say. But I don’t know. This attack doesn’t make too much sense… It just gets a guy thinking. Maybe not all of our assumptions are automatically true.” He shrugged, grinned, and wandered away from them, back into the caves. 

Edelgard hid her reflexive frown under her hand. She’d been right, back on the shuttle. This Claude was _definitely_ going to be a problem. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * So yeah, Edelgard's memory is intact, which is going to have a domino effect. Also, the Star Wars setting has a lot more methods for fast travel and instant communication than Fire Emblem's, which means her dropping all her relationships entirely once Thales got his hands on her would have looked quite suspicious. 
> 
> * Ditto keeping Patricia's identity and second marriage a complete secret. 
> 
> * Edelgard might not have hired Kostas in this timeline, but hopefully I haven't downplayed how far she's willing to go for her goals, since that's one of her primary character traits. She's in a very different position here though, less independent from Arundel, since the Sith have been way less subtle in their domination of Adrestia's government.


	9. Night 7

A lot of spies would set up some command center in the forest surrounding Garreg Mach, stuff it to the gills with stealth and monitoring tech, and conduct all their secret meetings there. Claude’s style was a little more relaxed. They just met up in the Enclave’s basement.

Generations of padawans had been sneaking down here to let off steam with secret parties, frowned-up card games, even-more-frowned-upon liaisons, and so forth. Over the years, the empty space had been filled with cheap tables, sofas, cots, and whatever else those kids managed to bring down there. Claude and the so-called Ashen Wolves (Judith really did love her code names) were seated at one of the tables now. If anyone came across them, they’d see five people playing pazaak - worth a stern look and short lecture from someone like Master Seteth, but they’d hardly think of the truth - that they’d interrupted an official meeting of an SIS spy cell. 

Yuri set down his cards - a perfect 20. He swept all of the chips onto his side of the table. Beside him, Balthus groaned. “I don’t know how you keep doing that!”

“The card up his sleeve helps,” Claude said, grinning as he collected the cards and started to deal them out again. 

“Just keeping you on your toes,” the other man smirked. “If we were playing for real credits I’d never dream of it. Obviously.” 

Hapi snorted into her drink. Claude had seen her down at least six of them so far, but she showed no sign of being at all affected. He supposed she was practicing a technique some Jedi used to filter the alcohol right out of their bodies before it could affect them. (Or maybe she was just _that_ heavy a drinker). 

Constance snapped yet another expensive fan out to hide her own smile, as Balthus continued to grumble into his own glass.

“Alright, cover story well and truly established,” Claude said quietly, once everyone had another hand of cards. “Yuri, what can you tell me about those pirates?” 

“Small fry. Their leader was a human named Kostas, middle-aged, and wanted on half the Core Worlds. Usually petty theft - liked to park along the well-known trade routes and hit ships that looked vulnerable.” 

“Not the kind of guy who would have the brains to locate Ilum _and_ suddenly decide to attack a bunch of Jedi there.”

Yuri nodded. “It couldn’t be more obvious that he was hired by someone else. Damn shame you didn’t manage to take him alive.” 

“I tried. But you know how Jedi are. Cut the head off first, ask questions later.” If only those Adrestians hadn’t shown up, he might’ve managed it. He had a stun bolt all lined up between Kostas’ eyes, and Byleth had been purely on the defensive to protect him and Lystheia. 

“Can you find anything about Kostas that isn’t in the Company records?” he asked.

“I was thinking I’ll talk to that kid with the supply contract - Ashe Ubert. One of my covers is a smuggler, and we’ve crossed paths a few times. He and his crew might have heard something we haven’t.” 

“Great idea. For now, let’s operate on the assumption that he was hired by our Sith friends. Nothing else makes much sense. Which, in turn, lends credence to the Boss’ theory that they’ve got eyes in Garreg Mach itself.”

Yuri saluted Claude with his drink. “Exactly. The date of the Ilum trip wasn’t a secret, but it was _only_ known to the Jedi. Those two kids in the local garrison you had me talk to had no idea.”

Hapi flipped her cards over into the center of the table. She’d sketched little doodles of some of the students on the back. “So who are we thinking?” 

Claude grinned and pointed at the first card, where a stern but tiny chibi Edelgard chided her fellow Adrestians, hands on hips. “Well, they’re the ones who killed Kostas. It might not mean anything - most Jedi would’ve in that situation. But if we combine that with Constance’s intel…” 

“I’m afraid intelligence is an exaggeration. I still haven’t been able to _confirm_ anything. But I’m certain that my family was removed because they got in someone’s way.” She frowned into her fan. “That said, I was friends with Aegir as a child, and passing acquaintances with the princess. Neither would think it suspicious if I approached them.” 

“Just what I was going to suggest. Okay, I hate to say it, but we can’t rule out Leicester.” Claude indicated Hapi’s doodle of his fellow padawans. (Lorenz was the standout here - a literal bowl over his head). “Thoughts?” 

“Gloucester is the most immediately suspicious, so much so that it’s _too_ obvious,” Yuri mused. “I don’t think his whole stuck-up noble thing is an act.”

“Yeah. His father, I could see - and there might be foul play behind the death of my uncle. But Lorenz doesn’t seem like he’s involved - unless he’s fooling both you and me, which is _not_ easy to do.” 

“Marianne sure doesn’t act Sith. Jumps out of her skin whenever you get near her. Can’t see her surviving what passes for training for them,” Hapi said. 

“Could be an act, but I doubt it,” Claude agreed. “I think we can rule out Hilda, too. But she’s a lot smarter than she acts, and knows the others better than I do. We could use her insight, even if she doesn’t know what she’s helping us with.” 

Balthus lifted a hand. “I’m actually from Leicester - I mean, it’s where mom settled down once she got away. I can think up some reason to get to know her.” 

Claude didn’t like the other man’s leer, but no matter - Hilda could more than handle herself in that regard. “Okay, do it. That just leaves Lystheia. I really don’t know much about her. She’s angry a lot, but it might not mean anything.” 

Yuri tapped through a few screens on his datapad. “House Ordelia was on a pleasure trip a few years ago - the whole lot of them - when they got exposed to a biological agent. Most of the family was killed, and the girl survived, but lost a good portion of her memory. Probably explains what stunted her growth, too.” 

“Heh, don’t let her hear you say that. Alright, check out that story, see if it holds up.” 

He turned his attention to the Faerghus drawings. “Sylvain is a troublemaker, but it seems petty and small-scale, not ‘secretly a Sith lord’ level. Felix’s got anger issues, but I think our deep-cover Sith would do a better job pretending - he lets it all hang out. Ingrid, Annette, and Mercedes have been model students - so naturally, I’m more suspicious. I’ll see if I can make friends.” 

Hapi nodded, then tapped the last card. She’d given Dimitri one to himself, the better to show off that she’d drawn his silly hair as actual noodles. “And the prince?” 

“He’s all yours. I overheard Felix making some pointed remarks about a previous struggle with the Dark Side. Again, I don’t think our Sith would show him or her-self like that, but there’s _something_ going on there. And if we assume Duscur was the Sith pulling strings instead of a random assassination… I don’t like where that leaves us.” 

She frowned. “It could all be… well, a hobby project? If there’s one thing they love, it’s breaking down good little Jedi. And breaking the heir to Faerghus right before invading the System would be real nice.”

“If so, you’re the best qualified to dig up the truth,” Claude said, and she nodded at him. 

“Getting late,” Yuri commented, sweeping the cards up. “We should get back to bed before some Knight on night duty wanders down here.”

Balthus groaned. “Before you give me a chance to win it all back?” 

“ _That_ was never going to happen, friend.” 

* * *

At that very moment, another secret meeting was taking place, though it was much less organized. Seven people crammed into Dimitri’s room - himself, the four he’d actually invited, plus Annette and Mercedes, who seemed to have decided all of their fellow Faerghus padawans were now their lifelong friends. (They’d also brought cookies).

“I called you here because it’s time to let you in on something very important,” he said, once he’d eaten one of the cookies for the sake of politeness. As expected, he couldn’t taste it, and he subtly passed the rest of his portion over to Ingrid. “The attack today necessitates that I bring you fully into my confidence. I apologize, because it will necessitate reliving something that was very painful to all of us-” 

“Get on with it,” Felix muttered.

“Ah... very well. I believe the Tragedy of Duscur was not entirely what it appeared to be. It was a proxy for an attack by someone _else_.” 

He watched their faces. Sylvain just nodded, unsurprised by the idea. Ingrid shot Dedue a guilty look - Dimitri was happy she’d apologized to the man, but it seemed more might be in order. Felix just scowled at him. 

Annette surprised him by speaking first. “My father always said that! Before he…” 

She trailed off suddenly, and Dimitri remembered. Gustave, a Jedi Knight in his father’s service, _had_ sworn that there was something deeper at play. He’d vanished a week after the Tragedy, on a personal quest to bring the truth to light.

Nobody had ever seen him again after that. If the conspiracy he’d been hunting was real, it seemed likely that he’d been killed by them. 

“Your surname is Dominic?” Now that he was thinking of it, the family connection was obvious - they had the same hair. When she nodded, he sighed. “I’m sorry. Gustave was a good man.” 

“It’s fine! Really. I’m fine. I mean, compared to what _you_ lost, Your Highness-” 

“Dimitri, please, and it’s not a competition-” 

“Damn right,” Felix sneered. “Is there a _point_ to this? Or are you just bringing all that shit up to make everyone wallow in the same mud as you, rancor?” 

“Well, yeah. The pirates,” Sylvain said, and Dimitri nodded at him. Sylvain was always smarter than he let on. “It was the exact same style. Hide behind another group, let them take the fall. No _way_ those guys stumbled onto Ilum on their own.” 

“Claude said something about _Sith_. That can’t be right, can it?” Ingrid asked, taking another cookie. She’d stress-eaten about half of them so far. 

“Truly, I don’t know. Everyone says they’re extinct. But if it’s not them, it’s _someone_. Dedue…” 

His bodyguard cleared his throat. “Yes. While many people of Duscur did hate the late King, others welcomed his intention to right Faerghus’ past wrongs. Some of us participated in the assassination, there is no denying that - but the _planning_ of it… I never heard a word of such a thing.” 

“And the attackers wore masks. Why would people from Duscur feel the need to do that?” Dimitri added. 

“This is the first time I’m hearing of this,” Mercedes said levely. “Why is that?” 

He sighed, not meeting her gaze. “I tried! I told my uncle, everyone, what I’d seen. They dismissed it as the ramblings of a traumatized child. They’d already sent warships to Duscur… they didn’t want to hear it.” 

Ingrid wasn’t the only one to give Dedue a guilty look after that. The big man spoke into the awkward silence. “You did what you could. You saved me, personally, and any others that you could reach in time.” 

“Kleinman, was he in on it? He ended up governor of the moon - a big promotion,” Sylvain wondered aloud. 

“If I’m correct, they _had_ to have help from the inside, though I’m not sure who, exactly,” Dimitri said. “There’s a reason I’ve come to you and not my uncle.” 

“So what do you want us to _do_?” Felix asked, obviously frustrated by all the talking.

“Keep your eyes open. Once we’ve completed our training and return to Faerghus, I’ll need your help in clearing the rats out of the palace. And... it may be that _they_ wish to ensure I _don’t_ ever return. That those pirates were after me, specifically.”

“I won’t let that happen,” Ingrid promised, at the same time that Felix rolled his eyes and said, “You can take care of yourself.” 

“Well,” Dimitri said with a forced laugh, “Felix is right about that. Please watch your own backs, not just mine.” 

Mercedes swept everyone out after that, with some instinctual reading of the room (perhaps Force-enhanced perception?) They all had plenty to think about, and he was afraid he’d just contributed to six sleepless nights. But it needed to be said. 

_Someone_ was out there, and they’d all need to work together to bring the conspiracy down. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * I got way ahead over the weekend so I think I'll post 3 times this week. 
> 
> * Claude, unintentionally throwing shade at how *extra* Edelgard's spying is.
> 
> * Gilbert is a better dad in this AU, because he was actually onto something and didn't just run away to join the Church out of guilt. Unfortunately he's most likely a deader dad in this AU, too.


	10. Days 8-13

Bernadetta was nervous. Well, that was her usual state, so better to say she was _extra_ nervous. In service to The Plan, she’d “accidentally” left her public profile attached to the latest chapter she uploaded to the HoloNet fanfiction site. She knew Sylvain was one of the regular readers, since _he_ didn’t have any shame about his own profile.

Now she sat and waited. Which was quite possibly the worst activity in the Galaxy.

Sure enough, he commented a few minutes later. He didn’t let on what he’d seen - giving his usual glowing praise without any reference to her identity. But she knew he’d be too curious to leave it there.

There was a knock at her door. 

“C-come in!” 

“I can’t believe you were _CobraLily24_ this entire time!” Sylvain said, swinging her door open. “You’re killing me with these cliffhangers, you know.” 

“Not so _loud_ ,” she hissed. “I didn’t mean to link my profile! By the time I fixed it, it was already too late!” 

“Whoops, well, yeah, I saw it. Must be ‘cause I subscribed and got the notification.” He paced through her little room, gesturing as he spoke. “Seriously, you have nothing to be ashamed of! You’re such a talented writer.”

“Um. Really? You’re not just saying that?” 

“I swear it on the Force, Bernie! Ninety percent of what gets posted on that site is just the _worst_ , but yours is one of the gems. I’ve never seen such a good characterization of the Exile. You know, a lot of people just focus on what we know from history, but you’re doing a deep dive into how fucked-up Malachor V was for everyone.” 

Bernadetta flushed. He’d leveled this sort of praise often in the comments, but having to sit there and _listen_ to it was another matter. “Oh, I don’t know, I’m just… writing what I know, you know? I mean, imagine how it would feel to _feel_ all those people die at once, and know it was all your fault.”

“Exactly! But at the same time, it was the only way to win the war, prevent even more death. It’s a really complicated issue, and you’ve got this nuance going that most writers just don’t reach. Seriously, I’m dying for the next chapter.” 

“W-well, thanks, I don’t know how regularly I’ll be able to update now that we’re _here_ …” 

Sylvain nodded. “Oh yeah, no pressure! Just, you know, you’re always hiding out here, and I wanted to let you know how good you are.” 

They kept talking about the story for over half an hour. Bernadetta even asked if _he_ wrote anything, which Sylvain laughed off ( _seriously, it’s shit, nothing like_ yours _\- I’m an editor, not a writer, I guess_ ). Then he suggested becoming her beta reader, and wouldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer.

It was only after he left that Bernadetta realized - she’d completely failed to turn the conversation towards Dimitri. The whole plan had been a total waste! 

Though... It _had_ been nice to hear so many good things about her writing. 

* * *

Leonie wasn’t at the training grounds that day - Felix supposed she would occasionally have to perform her day job with that smuggler captain, but it _was_ annoying. So far, she was good sparring partner, and pushed him harder than the droids would. (Also, she didn't waste much time talking). 

He was halfway through the max-difficulty training program when he felt the presence of another. Ferdinand Aegir, one of the Adrestians. Felix couldn’t remember seeing him out here before - and he practically lived out here. 

Then again, the man already had a lightsaber. Perhaps he was simply that much farther along. Felix felt a brief stab of jealousy - Adresita knew how to treat its Jedi, apparently. Faerghus insisted on babying them until they came of age. Rodrigue wouldn’t hear of Felix getting his hands on a lightsaber until Garreg Mach officially approved it. 

“Hello!” Ferdinand said, once Felix finished his routine and looked over at him. “I am-” 

“I know who you are,” Felix grumbled. “I’m here to train, not talk. If you feel the same, I’ll take you on.” 

Ferdinand blinked, but hopped up onto the raised platform without hesitation. “I had meant to practice against the droids. I’m afraid I have no training sword.” 

“Cortosis,” Felix said, tapping one of his swords. In other words, they could block a lightsaber blade. It was a rare and expensive material, but Faerghus nobility kept many such swords for their heirs - for obvious reasons. “Come on. I’m eager to see the results of Adrestian training. They don’t even teach Makashi on Faerghus.”

Ferdinand grinned at him, activating his orange blade with a flourish. “You noticed from the hilt of my weapon alone! You’re quite the student of saber-forms.” 

They exchanged formal bows, and then Felix jumped at him. Ferdinand was right - he’d _read_ a lot about the second form, but never seen it in action. Few had - it was designed for one on one duels, and fallen out of favor with the extinction of the Sith.

Ferdinand wasn’t all talk, either. He was quite accomplished in the form, smoothly transitioning from defense into offense whenever Felix over-extended himself, never leaving an opening in his stance. He was going to lose if this kept up. So Felix tossed his second sword aside and took the first in both hands. It blunted the ferocity of his attacks, but he wouldn’t let Ferdinand slip under his guard, either.

Ten minutes passed, then twenty. Eventually, Ferdinand lifted one hand. “A draw? It wouldn’t do to work ourselves to Force-exhaustion!” 

Felix, who’d fully intended to keep dueling until he collapsed, gave a jerky nod. “Fine, if you insist.” 

“Your own form was quite interesting! Juyo, unless I am mistaken. _That_ is not a common style among the Jedi, either.” 

Felix snorted. “Yeah. They say it’s too aggressive, puts the user at too much risk from the Dark Side. What do they know? The Dark Side can come for any of us.”

“You seem to speak from personal experience,” Ferdinand said, clipping his saber back on his ornate belt. “I do not mean to pry; however, I am here if you wish to talk.” 

Felix rolled his eyes. “There’s nothing to pry into. _I’m_ fine. But you’d do well to stay away from the Rancor - from the ‘prince’,” he added, when the other looked confused. “He acts like a good Jedi. But it’s all a lie.” 

Ferdinand opened his mouth to keep talking, but Felix was already sick of this conversation; he turned his back and left without another word.

It had been a good duel, so Ferdinand deserved the cryptic warning. What he did with that was _his_ affair. 

* * *

The Republic military garrison wasn’t anything special, for the most part. Caspar had been coming along on Clan jobs since he was fourteen years old, and he got the distinct impression he’d been involved in more actual fights than most of the veterans. They all had the look of soldiers who’d spent most of their careers at their desks.

There was one exception - a big, muscular guy named Raphael. Caspar had taken to training with him the last couple of days. He knew Edelgard might expect him to fight against these soldiers at any moment, which might have given _some_ people pause in buddying up to them.

Not Caspar. He was a Mandalorian! When that day came, Raphael would be a worthy opponent, and Caspar would show him the utmost respect by killing him personally. 

“That’s cool armor you got there!” Raphael said brightly, once they’d finished an hour-long session.

Caspar wiped the sweat from his face. His helmet had climate controls, of course, but he didn’t want to disappear under it quite yet. “Oh yeah. We have the best smiths in the whole Galaxy.” 

“I wish you could tell me - Don’t worry, I know you _can’t_ , cause it’s a big secret.” 

“Yeah…” The Mandalorian _beskar_ could shield its wearer from Force, and offered more resistance against lightsabers than anything else in the known Galaxy. It was their edge against the Jedi in the inevitable event of another war. Showing outsiders how to work with it was strictly prohibited. 

Caspar brightened as a thought stuck him. “Well, I can’t tell you about the material, but the loadout! Anyone can do that. You could set yourself up with repulsors, a flamethrower, the hydraulic vibro-blade in the gauntlets, the missile darts…” 

Raphael chewed his lip. “I don’t think the quartermaster is gonna authorize all that for me.” 

“Hutt space,” Caspar said sagely. “Half the unaffiliated bounty hunters run around pretending to be as good as us. There’s a whole market for all the tools.” 

“Oh yeah? Sounds great! The next time I get some leave, I’m gonna hop on a ship and get it done!” 

“Now you’re talking! Our next spar is gonna be _amazing_.” 

Raphael grinned back at him. “Now let’s eat!” 

* * *

Edelgard forbade Ferdinand and Bernadetta from approaching Lysithea. This thing required a delicate touch, and between the three of them, that just meant _her_. 

Now that Bernadetta had made her suspicions known, Edelgard saw them confirmed everywhere she looked. The way Lysithea used the Force was not at all like the Jedi’s doctrine - passivity, letting its will flow through them. She used it like a Sith - imperious, taking command, shaping it under her own (considerable) power. 

House Ordelia… they’d _supposedly_ fallen to some unfortunate accident, but that was clearly a lie. The Sith’s hands were all over this. The deaths were concentrated among the children of the family, with Lysithea as the sole survivor. 

Edelgard knew what that meant. She’d lived it. 

_The youngest of her brothers was the last to die. Arundel’s people had made her watch every moment of torture, every kill. She knew what they were going to do to him. She’d tried desperately to shield him, but they pried him from her arms, the knife flashing down -_

_She’d screamed, all of the pain and rage and loss concentrated into it. Screamed_ with _the Force. It smashed her captors against the opposite wall of the cell, breaking their necks on impact._

_The cell door opened. Arundel, a cold smile on his face: “Finally. You are ready for the training.”_

“Excuse me,” Lysithea said, jolting Edelgard from the nightmarish memory. “You’ve been staring at me.” 

“Ah… I did not mean to pry. But I heard about what happened to your House. The accident took place on Adrestia, did it not?” 

The smaller girl sighed. “If you’re here to officially apologize or offer compensation or something, please don’t. I lost my memory, but I’m no weaker for it. I can handle myself.” 

“I didn’t mean to imply that you could not. Indeed, you might be something of a prodigy with the Force. You’re so far ahead of the rest of the class - it makes one wonder about your initial training,” Edelgard said. 

Lysithea shook her head. “I can’t remember a thing about it. The accident, apparently. All I know is… using it is like second nature. My mind might have forgotten what I learned, but it’s all still there at my fingertips.” 

“Yes…” Powerful, indeed. So why the memory-wipe? Why not just use her as an apprentice? There was only one reasonable explanation: she’d had her mind programmed to respond to commands. At the right moment, the Sith who’d done it could force Lysithea to do… _something_. In the mean-time, the Jedi would be totally unable to detect that there was anything wrong with her. The perfect sleeper agent. 

It was possible it had been done by some Sith rivaling Arundel… but also possible that Arundel knew, and simply hadn’t told her. For all Edelgard knew, the embedded command could be to kill _her_ at the very moment the Enclave fell.

She needed to tread carefully. 

“You know, Adrestia has some skill with mind-healing.” Linhardt, mostly, but Edelgard would keep his secret, as promised. “We could-” 

“I don’t need your charity,” Lysithea grumbled. “I can manage this on my own!” 

“Then don’t think of it as charity. Surely you’re aware that House Ordelia was once Adrestian, before the civil war. Perhaps this is simply a ploy to influence the current heir and increase my own power,” Edelgard said.

Lysithea snorted out something resembling a laugh. “In _that_ case, I’ll think about it. But no promises.” 

“Of course.” Edelgard meant it - this plan required Lysithea’s total cooperation. They could force their way into her mind, but only at the risk of destroying it. 

(She could practically _hear_ Hubert urging her to do it, anyway - but she would not. She was _not_ that kind of Sith). 

* * *

Constance didn’t even need to come up with some clever plan to approach Ferdinand. The garrulous noble cornered her in the dining hall one night, launching into some prepared speech about how good it was to see her again. 

The absolute nerve!

“I know it was a difficult time for you-” 

“ _Difficult?_ The destruction of my House was the most humiliating moment of my life!” she said. “Did you come over here simply to remind me that I lost everything? Because I assure you, I am well aware of that!” 

Ferdinand blanched. “I… did not intend to cause offense. I care about you - our friendship, and was attempting to offer my condolences.” 

“I need more than words, Ferdinand. I am _well_ aware that your House was on the winning side of that silent conflict. Yet you’ve done nothing for me, your so-called friend.” 

“You have my sincerest apologies,” he said, and lowered his voice. “We both know that… the situation… on Adrestia is not ideal. But I firmly believe that Princess Edelgard will change things when she takes the throne. If she does not, I will take her to task!” 

Constance lifted a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “You plan to… put in a good word for me? Forgive me if I do not fall to my knees in gratitude. Many people have promised their _words_ to my cause.” 

“I know words alone seem empty, but I urge you to speak to Edelgard yourself! She seeks to advance individuals of merit, regardless of their station. House Nuvelle’s… status… was not her doing, nor would it factor in to her decision.”

“Perhaps I will,” Constance said, as if Claude hadn’t already assigned her to do so. 

The look in Ferdinand’s eyes throughout their conversation… she’d never seen him like that. It was deep shame, mingled with fear. He would never outright admit it to Constance, but he knew full-well why her House had been destroyed - yet he was too afraid of _someone_ to speak openly of it. 

It seemed the SIS wasn’t jumping at shadows on this. The Sith had infested Adrestia. 

* * *

Balthus had one advantage when approaching Hilda - he did know her brother, having done a bodyguard job or two for Holst in his day. (A secret and untrained Force-sensitive could be a damn good bodyguard when he wanted to!) He didn’t expect she’d remember _him_ , but here they were, reminiscing over that time he’d saved Holst from a wild rancor in the woods surrounding the Goneril estate. 

Unfortunately, he was losing her, because he’d pretended - well, he did actually need the credits, so he might as well _ask_ , right? 

“What happened to that brave guy who saved my brother from a horde of Nexu?”

“Wow, way to shame a guy. I still need the credits, though. Can’t live without them.” _Especially given the types I_ ‘borrowed’ _from._

Hilda rolled her eyes. “I _could_ talk to my brother…” 

“Don’t you dare! We got to be pretty good friends when I had that job. Don’t want to ruin it by borrowing from him.” 

“Then why _did_ you come over here? It wasn’t just to talk about the good old days.” Damn, she had him made. Claude was right, she _was_ perceptive. 

“I might have a line on something. People would pay good credits for info on Leicester’s political situation, y’know? Speculators and such. Slip them a hint about what the Roundtable is gonna decide on - and reap the rewards.” 

“And you figured I’d be an easy mark, is that it?” 

“Well, I know you’re smart, and you know stuff, and we _do_ go way back.” 

Hilda preened a little under the flattery. “Well… okay. But I want a cut.” 

Balthus hid a groan. Great, he was already in debt, and now he’d have to give her credits to keep up the facade. She'd really turned this one around on him, huh? _Damn, I really should’ve thought of a better cover story._

* * *

Drinking with the Force-Blind was almost unfair. Yuri could use his talents to filter out the harmful effects of the shots he kept knocking back. He was _very_ good at it, too - it was one of the best ways to get intel. 

Ashe and his crew could only rely on their natural tolerance. And some of them had more tolerance than others - Leonie and Petra were already passed out on the table. 

“Jarro the Hutt is _still_ furious about you turning him down, by the way,” he said, pretending to be much more affected by his drink. He gestured widely, let a flush suffuse his face. “Can you keep a secret?” 

“Of course!” Ashe said earnestly, though he was starting to lose focus on Yuri’s face.

“That Rodian wasn’t the end of it. He also wanted to hire this guy, Kostas, to take you out. I talked him out of it - you’re welcome, by the way.” 

Ashe frowned. “Kostas, like… hey, didn’t the Jedi just kill him?”

“Yeah,” Yuri said. “I don’t know much about him, except that he was on Jarro’s assassin shortlist. How about you?” 

The captain shook his head. “Sorry… never heard of him before. But hey, sounds like you saved my life, sort of! I owe you one.” 

“Mmm, I’ll tell you what, if you remember this conversation in the morning, I’ll let you owe me.” Yuri was pretty confident Ashe would not. Shame that he didn’t know anything else about Kostas, but it had been a long shot. The good-hearted smuggler didn’t exactly run in the same circles as a hired gun.

As Ashe’s eyelids drooped, Dorothea looked at Yuri, a wicked smile on her face. “I think it’s about time I ‘fessed up, Yurikins. I know your little secret.”

“Oh, yeah?” Yuri was good at mind tricks, too, _damn_ good. Whatever she knew, she was about to forget it. 

“I _heard_ you, singing for those orphans the other day. You talk tough, but you’re really just soft under it all. And may I say, a fantastic singer.”

He relaxed, now that he knew it was some harmless little thing. “High praise, coming from you. Back on Nar, I saw one of your shows-” 

“I’d rather not talk about that,” Dorothea said abruptly, and Yuri let it go. He should’ve guessed that it hadn’t been strictly voluntary. The Hutts sure liked to put on shows, showing off the various talents of their slaves. 

“Right, yeah, the kids. They couldn’t sleep, so I thought, why not?” 

She pointed her shot glass at him, an accusatory gesture. “You might act like a hardened criminal, but I see right through you, Yurikins. You’re as soft as the captain, when you get right down to it.” 

Yuri smirked. “Is that so?” 

“Jarro wouldn’t have hired Kostas. He only works with people he already knows. He tried to hire _you_ to kill us, and you turned him down.” 

Yuri lifted his hands. “Yeah, you got me. I didn’t want to make Ashe feel indebted to me, so I spun up that story, but… yeah, I told Jarro to go to hell. He was offering good credits, but good friends are much more valuable.” 

“I’ll drink to that.” 

“You probably _shouldn’t_ , you’re… Oh, yep, she’s out, too.” 

Yuri went into one of the cabins, grabbed four pillows, and put one under each of the crew’s heads. He touched each of their foreheads in turn before he left the _Kyphon_. Taking away the inevitable morning hangovers was the least he could do, really, since he’d gotten them in this state for nothing. 

(Damn, Dorothea had been right - he really _did_ have a soft spot for Ashe). 

* * *

Hapi’s own espionage style was a lot more direct. She just walked up to Dimitri when one of their lectures ended, cornering him before he could leave with those friends of his.

“You look familiar.” She squinted into his face.

“You’re from Faerghus, correct? I suppose you’ve seen me on the holo-films and such…?” _I am a Prince, you know_ , his expression said, though _he_ was too polite to ever say it. 

“No - I mean, yeah, but I _meant_ that it feels like I’ve seen you in real life.” 

“Well, I would often accompany my father as he traveled throughout the planet. Perhaps we stopped where you lived?” 

She snorted. “You didn’t visit _my_ village. Nobody did, at least until I was kidnapped.” 

Dimitri’s eyes grew wide. “Kidnapped!?” 

“Yeah, she snatched me up one day. I was always good with animals, you know? That’s why she wanted me. All kinds of experiments, blood tests, locked up in a dungeon. Do not recommend, honestly.” 

“I should think not! Tell me the name of this horrible individual, and I’ll see that they receive the justice they deserve!”

She rolled her eyes. “Some people are untouchable, Didi. Even to you.” Hapi didn’t have a shred of evidence, and the Faerghus nobility would believe one of their own over _her_. The only thing he could do was confront Cornelia directly, but she was here to scope out Dimitri’s mental state - not trying to get him killed.

“Very well,” the prince said, controlling himself with an effort. “I will respect your wishes, but I am sorry you had to endure such treatment.” 

“Oh, I’m all good, now. She let me go, eventually, when the experiments didn’t work out the way she wanted.” 

“Still… to think such a thing could happen on my own planet… It was one of those rats in the palace, no doubt. Parasites, all of them.” Something glinted in his eyes, a flash of yellow that Hapi was very much _not_ a fan of.

“Hey, whoa, calm down. Something something, revenge is not the Jedi way,” she said vaguely. “I’m supposed to move past it, and all that.” 

“You are right, of course. I should take that lesson to heart, as well.” He jerked his head in a half-hearted attempt at a respectful nod, and walked away from her.

Hapi grimaced ( _almost_ sighed, but stopped herself in time!) Dimitri was in a worse state than they’d thought. The mere mention of an injustice done to someone he didn't even know was almost enough to set him off. And given what _had_ happened to his actual friends and family on Duscur? If the Sith were really setting him up to fall… well, it didn’t seem like it would take much of a push.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * s/o to those Bernadetta & Sylvain being writer & editor fics lol. Star Wars has enough tech for me to get away with that trope. The fic itself is referencing KOTOR 2 which is possibly my favorite SW game. 
> 
> * I think the 7 saber forms are mostly fanon by now, but I still quite like them.


	11. Night 13

After two weeks of relatively basic training, Rhea seemed satisfied with the students’ progress. She announced that Knight Jeritza would be leading an expedition out to the Temple’s ancient saber forge, located on Garreg Mach’s moon. Thousands of years of Fodlan System padawans had forged their first lightsabers at that very spot.

Edelgard was concerned, and assembled her small war council in the forest spy-base the night before everyone was set to depart. 

“There’s been no word from my _uncle_ , but it seems the perfect time for another attack. He first struck on Ilum when we were separated from most of our guards and the older Knights. This would be the same… except _we_ aren’t going, which will immediately draw suspicion.” 

Caspar frowned. “But like… you’re supposed to be his spy here? Why would he set you up like that?” 

Edelgard, Ferdinand, and Bernadetta exchanged looks, but it was Linhardt who answered. “They’re only nominally on the same side. Remember, we’re planning to stab him in the back as soon as it’s advantageous; he’s certainly doing the same to us.” 

“Oh yeah… Damn, that stuff makes my head hurt.” 

“Fortunately for us all, you are not our spymaster,” Hubert said, clearly irritated with the interruption. “If I may, my lord?”

Once Edelgard nodded, Hubert tapped a few keys on the computer. The screen winked into life, displaying names and pictures of the entire faculty at Garreg Mach. 

“Only the students and teachers knew the date of the Ilum trip, and we may assume the same holds true for tomorrow. Furthermore, Knights Hrym and Eisner will be the only ones accompanying the group. The Jedi are confident that the moon is secure.” 

“If an attack takes place… Byleth and Jeritza are the most likely candidates for Arundel’s spies, then,” Ferdinand mused.

Hubert nodded at him. “They may not be the _only_ ones. Indeed, I believe it worth cross-examining the other two who hail from Adrestia - Casagranda and Essar - at a later date. But for now, this is what we have…”

His fingers flew over the keyboard, and the screen shifted, now showing two Intelligence files. As usual, Hubert had been quite productive with his time; the dossiers were exhaustive, though one was a lot shorter than the other. 

Edelgard tapped that shorter one. “There's not much on Eisner.” 

“No. He was born and raised on this planet, and there are very few off-world trips in the travel logs. The longest was just a few months on Coruscant - his Knight Trials and subsequent assignment from the High Council.”

“It’s not impossible for Arundel to have gotten to him in that time. Someone Grandmaster Rhea is so obviously fond of would be all the more devastating as a traitor,” Ferdinand mused.

Bernadetta nodded tightly. “He could’ve programmed Byleth’s mind! Just like Lystheia! I mean, he could’ve done that to _anyone_!” 

Edelgard sighed. “It’s no use getting hysterical, Bernadetta. You noticed it last time, and would surely notice it any other times. Does anything about the Knight’s mind feel odd to you?” 

She considered it briefly, then shook her head. “No… I mean, he’s _very_ disciplined. I don’t get any read on him at all. But nothing feels _wrong_ , no.” 

“We should never rule anything out - but I believe Hrym is the far more likely candidate,” Hubert said, gesturing to the other dossier. “Born on Adrestia, to the Bartels family… who were one of those wiped out some years ago.”

He delicately avoided mentioning the civil war that had seen Ferdinand and Edelgard’s families on opposite sides. Arundel’s doing, no doubt; further weakening the Adrestian nobility to cement his own claim over the planet. 

“That certainly fits the pattern,” Edelgard said.

“Indeed, my lord. Unfortunately, there were no survivors - I had our entire Intelligence apparatus looking. But we did piece together small bits of security footage. We can confirm that Jeritza - young as he was at the time - killed his own father during the attack.” 

Ferdinand scowled. “That sounds exactly like the sort of sick test Arundel would put to a new apprentice.” 

“And the Jedi took him in? If we found out about this, why didn’t the SIS?” 

Hubert touched the screen, opening up yet another file. “No sound, I’m afraid, but this is a meeting between Master Seteth and then-padawan Jeritza that I located in the Temple’s archival security footage.”

Even without hearing what passed between them, the body language made it clear enough. Seteth’s arms were folded across his chest, but his face was absent of its usual forbidding, stern expression. Jeritza looked like he was about to cry. They talked animatedly for several minutes, and it ended with Seteth patting Jeritza on the shoulder and leading him away.

“Of course. All he had to do was give some sob story about his brush with the Dark Side, and the Jedi would fall over themselves to ‘redeem’ him,” Edelgard said, rolling her eyes at the screen. “A good cover story, if he _is_ one of my uncle’s worms; it doesn’t deny his past, but instead offers it up as the perfect Jedi bait.” 

“My thoughts exactly,” Hubert agreed. 

“Then our course of action is clear. We seize Jeritza - tonight. We have a few hours to make absolutely sure that he... re-considers.... his loyalty to my uncle.” 

Hubert smirked. “I thought you might say that, my lord. I’ve taken the liberty of making the arrangements. Everything will be set in motion on your command.”

She nodded sharply at him. “Do it.” 

* * *

The encrypted message (a damn good copy of Arundel’s private codes - some of Hubert’s best work, Hubert thought) worked like a charm. The message was short and vague - immediately ordering Jeritza to come to the designated coordinates.

An innocent man would have assumed the message had been sent to him in error, or some kind of prank. He might have taken the message to his superiors in the Jedi Order. But a guilty man, expecting communication from his distant master… he would show up, all right. 

And when Jeritza walked into the clearing, Hubert allowed himself a smirk and the faintest of laughs. This confirmed everything. 

He pressed a button, and a force-field immediately sprang up to cover the entire clearing. Nobody was getting in or out of the area now; it would take even a Jedi considerable effort to break it. It also had the advantage of cutting off any sound to the outside world.

Jeritza had fast reflexes. His saber was in his hand and ignited within a moment, blue light breaking through the darkness of the forest. “Show yourself!” 

Hubert stayed in the command center, as planned, but the other five stepped out from beneath their cloaking device. Linhardt and Caspar were already concealing their faces under their helmets, obviously, but the other three wore those Revanite masks.

“Jeritza Hrym - or should I say, Emille Bartels,” Edelgard said, her voice modulated to be unrecognizable as it issued from the mask. “You call yourself a Jedi, but we know who you truly serve.”

Jeritza didn’t bother denying it. He jumped forward, slashing with his saber.

Hubert knew Edelgard could take care of herself, but it still took everything he had to follow his orders and stay inside. It was equally important to ensure that they weren’t interrupted by the Jedi’s night patrols, and he had to monitor the equipment, and yet… he kept one eye on the camera feed nonetheless. 

The combatants moved fast, too fast for him to really follow. The five of them could have taken Jeritza down, but Edelgard waved off all help, intent on a private duel. Not the wisest move, and _not_ what they’d planned if things turned violent, but there was no denying her…

Eventually Jeritza made a mistake - lunging too aggressively, allowing Edelgard to counter, knock the weapon from his hand, and place her own silver blade at his neck.

“Do it,” Jeritza said, glaring up at her.

“I will not. We didn’t call you here to kill you.” 

“Why, then?” 

“To talk. I am the rightful lord of the Sith; Arundel, a mere pretender. You’ve seen my power tonight; can you doubt it?” 

“You _are_ strong,” Jeritza admitted. The glare had morphed into something else, more like… a hungry sort of admiration. “I would very much enjoy learning from you. Yet, there are… complications. The one you speak of has power over me.” 

“Whatever his hold on you, we will help you break it. Would you not prefer to serve a master who trusts their own people? Who commands loyalty instead of fear?” 

“You wear Revan’s ideals, not just their face,” the other murmured.

“Yes… I suppose I do. Well, what do you say?” 

Jeritza didn’t take long to make his decision. A very odd man - but Hubert supposed the duel had done most of the convincing. Some Force-users believed in that sort of thing, talking with their blades in combat. 

“It’s my sister. Arundel knows of her… Made it clear that he would kill her, if I _actually_ defected to the Jedi at any point.” 

“Serve me, and she will be protected. I swear it on the Force,” Edelgard said.

“Yes… yes. I will serve you. What would you have me do?”

“We’ll start with tomorrow. I’ll arrange to come along. When Arundel’s forces strike, you will attack all three of the planetary heirs, wounding me and killing the other two.” 

“Yes, my lord.” No hesitation. Jeritza would have done anything she asked in that moment, Hubert was sure of it. 

_Ah, an excellent idea,_ Hubert thought. They hadn’t discussed THAT, either, but he saw exactly where Edelgard was going with it. _If successful, the Jedi will take the blame for failing to protect the Prince and Duke..._ and _for harboring the assassin. It will turn the System against itself - leave it vulnerable to us._

As Edelgard deactivated her saber and helped Jeritza to his feet, Hubert allowed himself a smirk. They’d thoroughly out-maneuvered Arundel on this one. Like all the Sith before him, he thought he could command through fear alone. The fool didn’t know what he was up against, wouldn’t realize it until his power base had crumbled beneath his feet. 

Edelgard was _not_ like all the Sith before her. She was something new… something _much_ stronger: a Sith with ideals.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * This is a shorter one, sorry. The next one is really long & eventful. I have no rhyme or reason to how long these chapters get lol. I do like breaking things up on a timeline to make things clear though. 
> 
> * The Insurrection still happened but was a lot more violent, and more of a war than a coup. Thales/Arundel already had a grip on power so it was really just throwing his weight around to destroy anyone who might challenge him. 
> 
> * And yep, Edelgard is still willing to go THAT far. She's just making sure she uses someone more competent than Kostas, lol.


	12. Day 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: self-hatred, reference to previous physical child abuse, some violence (that's right, it's a Sylvain section!)

Claude had mixed feelings about the ritual surrounding today’s trip. Lightsabers were powerful and important and all of that - but on the other hand, he was pretty darn effective with blasters, taking advantage of his skill with the Force to wield them with perfect precision. He didn’t share the near-reverence that a lot of the Jedi seemed to hold for their weapons. His mind raced through various crazy ideas - other, non-traditional weapons he could empower with the yellow kyber crystal. 

Ideas that would send Grandmaster Rhea into a fit if he so much as hinted at them. Alas. A traditional saber would do… for now. 

He was interested to see that their escort consisted of just two Knights and a single company of the garrison soldiers. Claude could take care of himself, but he’d figured the Ilum fiasco might have put Rhea on edge. She must have written it off as an unfortunate but isolated incident. A mistake, in his mind, knowing what he knew.

He supposed he could’ve told Rhea what the SIS knew, why he was really here. Judith had suggested it, but left the decision up to him, the lead agent on the ground. And Claude… Well, frankly, he did not trust Rhea. It wasn’t just that she was hiding what species she was - it was the way she approached _everything else_. 

So instead of spilling the beans, he smuggled his trusty blasters into his pack. 

Claude recognized two of the soldiers - Ignatz and Raphael, now wearing their official uniform armor. The former awkwardly carried a sniper rifle that was probably taller than he was; the latter, a formidable-looking auto-cannon. 

“How many rounds a second can that thing throw out?” he asked.

Raphael grinned. “I lose count, honestly.” 

“That’s reassuring. As long as you point it in the right direction, I mean.” 

“Are you expecting trouble, sir?” Ignatz was more perceptive than most, Force or no Force. Maybe those augmented eyes were displaying data on Claude’s heart rate and breathing, or something. 

Claude grinned at him. “Prepare for the worst, hope for the best. That’s all.” 

Ignatz didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t argue, either. 

Claude felt a prickling at the back of his neck - as if someone was staring at him. By the time he looked up, the other students were back in their holo-schematics, planning out their sabers’ designs, but he was sure of it… _one_ of them was watching him. 

Ilum was an inside job. And based on the Wolves’ reports, they’d been right to suspect Adrestia. All three of those students already had their lightsabers - yet they’d come along anyway, Edelgard saying that she wished to study the different techniques that Garreg Mach would teach them. 

It wasn’t definitive, but he’d long ago learned to trust his instincts. He would be keeping an eye on the princess.

* * *

The ancient saber forge was impressive. Sylvain could feel its power from a mile away. The Force lay heavy and intense over the rock outgrowth - the accumulation of thousands of padawans building their weapons here. The week’s reading (which he’d only _mostly_ skipped) mentioned that forges were constructed in locations that were naturally receptive to a Jedi’s will, making it easier to assemble the components. 

Once they were inside, they all split up, each taking their own plinth. Sylvain eyed his materials pouch and sighed. Faerghus didn’t hand down weapons directly - with each crystal personalized to its Jedi, that would be silly. They _had_ developed proprietary materials within each noble family. Every Gautier for the last thousand years wielded a saber build with the exact mixture and color of metals currently in his bag.

He longed to throw off those shackles and build something that was truly his. Something particularly garish, just to give his dear old dad a heart attack when he came home. But that would be a declaration of war he wasn’t ready for - not yet.

 _Stupid traditions it is_.

Sylvain hadn’t done any of the prep work Byleth assigned them, earning him a few lectures from Ingrid. But, as was often the case, he hadn’t needed to. Everything came naturally to him, like solving a particularly simple puzzle, all of the pieces clicking into place. 

He emerged from the forge a couple of minutes later, whistling, tossing the silver hilt from hand to hand. The Knights and soldiers were the only ones out there - meaning he’d been the first to put his saber together. 

Byleth turned sightless eyes towards him. “That was quick.” 

“I don’t hear _that_ often,” Sylvain smirked. 

As usual, there wasn’t the hint of a reaction on the Knight’s face. Wordlessly, he held out his hand for the saber, and Sylvain gave it to him without further banter. 

Byleth activated the saber and worked through a couple of forms, the green blade flashing. Then he nodded and handed the weapon back to Sylvain. “I sense nothing wrong with it. Good work.” 

“Yeah, I _am_ good, huh?”

The faintest hint of a frown. “Arrogance does not become a Jedi, Sylvain.” 

“Whatever. I’m gonna take a walk.” 

There was something upsetting about how easily it all came to him, to be honest. Ingrid had been studying their textbook for hours, brow furrowed. Felix, who planned on building a pair, tinkered endlessly with the design. Dimitri struggled to clear his mind enough to visualize the double-bladed weapon he desired. 

But Sylvain? He’d done no preparation at all, waltzed into the forge, and completed his saber in a couple of minutes. Easy. _Too easy_ . What had _he_ done to deserve these natural talents? His friends might have put them to good use; he was just a waste. He’d always been a waste, handed the Force on a silver platter, when others had- 

A thought-message from Felix intruded: _Shut up. Stop wallowing. It’s not healthy_ and _it’s very distracting_. 

_You always know the perfect thing to say to make a guy feel better. Thanks, buddy._

_I’m not_ trying _to make you ‘feel better.’ I’m trying to snap you out of it._

Felix wasn’t very good at this, but it did amuse Sylvain enough to give the self-hatred a rest. _Yeah, you’re right. How's it coming for you?_

 _Having some trouble with the emitter_ , Felix admitted. _I need to focus._

_Go on. I’ll be fine._

Sylvain looked up then, realizing he’d actually wandered quite far from the forge. He could still see the Knights and soldiers, but they were small figures in the distance. It didn’t look like any of the other students had managed to finish their weapons. 

He turned to look out at the moon - a lifeless landscape, really, though the air was breathable. He wasn’t that far from the landing pad where the Enclave shuttle rested, waiting for them. And… hang on. When had that second ship gotten here? It wasn’t Republic, either; it had the rust-dirt look of a smuggler craft...

The Force screamed a warning at him. He’d never seen that ship before, but he knew exactly who the captain was. He should turn back - but instead he grabbed his saber and broke into a run.

His agitation must have reached through the bond with Felix. _Sylvain, what -_

 _He’s here. There is no good reason for_ him _to be here._

_You’re going too fast. Who’s ‘he’? Talk to me._

_No time. Warn the others - you’re all in danger_. 

He muffled the connection as he reached the landing pad. A couple of the smuggler ship’s crew saw him coming and started firing. Sylvain spun his new saber and deflected the bolts easily. He didn’t slow down as he passed them, throwing them out of his way with a burst of Force. 

The captain was in the ship’s cockpit. The Force had told him who the man was, but Sylvain’s heart still leaped into his chest when he saw him. He was a little older, and there were new scars marring his face, but there was no mistaking that face.

“Miklan,” he growled.

His older brother broke into a wide grin, as false as any of Sylvain’s. “Little brother. I’d sort of hoped you’d be here, honestly.” 

“What are you _doing_ here?” 

“Just a job. Nothing personal,” Miklan said, an ugly sneer on his face. “They paid good credits, and they needed a crew who wouldn’t bat an eye at dropping some Jedi-killing cargo. Guess I fit that bill.” 

Sylvain leveled the saber at his brother’s neck. “Call it off.” 

“Call it off? You really don’t realize who I’m working for, do you? I don’t cross them; I just go where I’m told.” Miklan didn’t look afraid, even with Sylvain’s weapon at his throat, which was _bad_. “Though… maybe we can make a deal.” 

“I know better than _that_.” 

“You’re gonna want to think about this one.” Miklan pressed a button, and the ship rocked slightly as its turrets swiveled over to point at the saber forge - and fired. 

“ _That_ was just a warning shot! I press this again, and I’ll blow that whole forge to hell. Bury all of your little friends. My employers won’t be very happy - it wasn’t the plan - but fuck, the look on your face would be worth it.” 

Sylvain knew his brother. This was no empty bluff - he would do anything, no matter how low, to get back at the Gautiers. It was a dark, twisted mirror of what Sylvain himself might have become if things had been different. They might resent their father equally, but only one of them had been born with the precious Force, and all the advantages that brought. 

“You’re fast,” Miklan said, “but my finger is right on it. Even if you kill me, I bet I press it with my dying breath. Care to test the theory?” 

No, Sylvain did not. 

“I know why you really agreed to this, Miklan.”

“Oh? Reading my mind, little Jedi?” 

“No… I just know you. Let the others go, and I won’t put up a fight.” Sylvain deactivated his saber and dropped it to the floor. 

Miklan smirked at him, then barked orders into his comm. “Let’s go, boys. We were paid in advance to drop those battle droids here… and we have what I _really_ came for. Margrave Gautier will pay a fortune to get his precious _heir_ back in one piece…” 

He eyed Sylvain speculatively, then struck without warning - a punch, hard enough to leave Sylvain doubled up and gasping for air.

“Well. Maybe a few pieces,” Miklan laughed, aiming the second blow for his brother’s face. 

* * *

The Force had Byleth uneasy, even _before_ Felix herded all of the other students out of the forge, yelling something about them all being in danger. The turret fired a moment later. Byleth sprang nimbly to one side, but Jeritza wasn’t so lucky - the ground beneath his feet gave out, and the Knight shouted in surprise before dropping out of sight. 

“Felix. Report,” Byleth ordered, his voice utterly calm despite how narrowly he’d just dodged being shot. 

“I don’t know,” the padawan said, in obvious frustration. “Sylvain didn’t give me any details - just said to warn everyone.” 

“Don’t go back into the forge - another shot would collapse it in on you. Those of you who finished their sabers, protect those who have not. Put the mountain at our backs to limit angles of attack.” He frowned slightly at the buzzing sensations of fear. “And remember the Code. _There is no emotion; there is peace_.” 

He’d successfully gotten them into a small semi-circle when the droids attacked. Nothing they couldn’t handle, even if the droids _were_ advanced combat models. 

Byleth’s intuition flashed in the middle of the fight, and he just barely pivoted in time - to bring his lightsaber up against the attacker’s blade, forcing it to a stop mere centimeters from Edelgard’s neck. 

“What’s a Revanite doing here?” someone shouted. 

The attacker didn’t bother with words - they spun to slash in Claude’s direction, but Byleth blocked them again. He forced the enemy’s saber to the side, and the attempted stab at Dimitri flew wide. Then they were dueling in earnest. 

The attacker was good - very good. They had the advantage, too; Byleth had to push the duel away from all of the students, while his enemy’s only goal was to cut him down. But the longer the fight lasted, the more droids would fall to Byleth’s students. The Knight switched to Soresu, knowing he’d win by drawing this out as long as possible. 

Evidently, the attacker agreed. With a growl of frustration - modulated by the mask - he abruptly broke off and leapt away. 

“Status report,” Byleth said, deactivating his weapon. He could tell all of the droids were destroyed at this point. 

“Minor injuries, but nothing serious,” Edelgard said.

“Yeah… that was an amazing duel, Teach! You really saved our necks out there.” 

“Indeed,” Dimitri said stiffly. “I did not react in time. I apologize - if I had not been holding you back, you surely would have defeated the Revanite.” 

Byleth shook his head. “Finish building your sabers. I don’t sense any other danger.” 

Felix pushed past the others, anger roiling off him in waves. “What about Sylvain? I don’t sense him anywhere!” 

“Calm yourself - you worrying will not help us find him any faster. I will report back at once.” 

Felix didn’t feel convinced, but he let Dimitri and Ingrid pull him back into the forge. Byleth sighed and activated his communicator. In moments, he was in conference with both Grandmaster Rhea and Master Seteth. He gave a quick report of the incident. 

“... everyone else is fine. I sense that Knight Jeritza is alive, albeit hurt from his fall. I’ll tend to him immediately once I hang up,” he concluded. 

He could feel Rhea’s scowl, even if he couldn’t see it. “Ilum was no coincidence. Someone is targeting our most sacred rituals - intentionally attacking at these sites.” 

“I agree - we need to increase our security. But our immediate priority is locating Sylvain Gautier as quickly as possible,” Seteth said. “Did the droids leave any clue?”

“No… But I know how we can find him,” Byleth said slowly. Rhea was _not_ going to like this, but she didn’t understand that sometimes, you had to let padawans make their own mistakes. They wouldn’t learn, otherwise. “Please send me a ship with a hyperdrive...” 

* * *

Ashe was confused when he got the call, but he wasn’t about to turn down his planet’s prince. His contract with Rhea took precedence, naturally, but he didn’t see the harm in taking the _Kyphon_ over to Garreg Mach’s moon and seeing what Dimitri wanted. 

Dorothea’s hackles were up, as they usually were when they dealt with Jedi. She also seemed to have a particular dislike of Dimitri - or maybe she was worried that Ashe would do something stupid out of patriotism. Either way, Ashe had to agree with her when they got to the specified coordinates. There wasn’t a landing pad in sight, and he was forced to make a landing on the bare rock surface of the moon. 

Padawan after padawan piled onto the ship. Ashe recognized each of them - six of the group he’d originally brought over from Faerghus. No sign of a Knight or Master, though. And they all looked sort of guilty.

“Pardon me, but… what exactly are you asking me to do?” 

Dimitri flushed, unable to hide a guilty expression. “We, ah. We are going to Dagda.” 

“ _Without_ permission from any of your masters, apparently,” Dorothea sniffed. “I don’t like this, Captain. We should drop them back at the Enclave and let the Jedi sort this out among themselves.” 

“No!” Felix said. He gave Leonie a pleading look. “... We can’t go back. We need to go to Dagda _right now_.” 

Leonie frowned, but whispered in Ashe’s ear. “He’s the one I’ve been training with. I trust him - even if this is sketchy.” 

Ingrid pushed to the front of the group, a scowl on her face. “For the love of - Just _tell them_. It’s Sylvain. He was kidnapped.” 

“And you put a tracker on the ship that did it? Which has gone to Dagda,” Petra guessed.

“... Something like that.” Ingrid waved a hand, which Ashe recognized as her symbol for _yeah, it’s_ _Force stuff, explaining would take too long_. 

“I still think we should have told Knight Byleth instead of rushing off,” Annette said in a small voice. 

“We’re wasting time,” Felix snapped. “Take us there. _Please_. I can sense that Sylvain is in pain… we _have_ to help him! We can’t wait for the Jedi to make up their minds!” 

Everyone was looking at Ashe. He needed to make a decision - but then, he already had, from the moment he heard the pain in Felix’s voice. He knew what it was like to lose a friend. He wouldn’t let that happen to anyone else - not if he could do something about it. 

“Setting course for Dagda. Maximum speed. Make sure you’re sitting down!” he said, and jumped into the pilot’s seat. 

* * *

Jeritza had broken his leg in the fall, but he’d already managed to splint the injury when Byleth retrieved him. And despite the distraction, the students all managed to finish their sabers by the time the Jedi ship arrived. 

It hadn’t come soon enough - the smuggler had already taken off with Prince Dimitri, Felix, and the others. But Byleth had anticipated that, and slipped a tracker onto the hilt of one of Felix’s new sabers. The kid had been so worked up that he hadn’t even noticed. 

“There’s something I need to do. Knight Jeritza will accompany the rest of you back to Garreg Mach on the shuttle.” 

Dead silence. Nobody moved. Eventually, Claude spoke up. “Uh, Teach, we know you’re chasing after Dimitri and co. And _they_ obviously ran off to go get Sylvain back.” 

Byleth frowned. “I will handle it.” 

“They’re our friends, too. We want to help,” Claude countered. Apparently he’d appointed himself the students’ spokesman. Several of them were nodding along.. “We’ll follow any order you give us, and we won’t get in your way, but we can’t just go back and cool our heels at the Enclave while one of us is in danger.”

“It would be _most_ ignoble of us,” Lorenz added.

“I agree with Claude,” Edelgard sighed. “And I know my step-brother. He can be… very stubborn. You may need our help to keep him from doing something foolish.” 

Ironically, Byleth could feel the stubbornness that faced him, with both of the other planetary heirs leading the pack in that regard. Sylvain didn’t have time for him to wrangle them all back into the return shuttle. 

“Fine… Any of you that _wish_ to return may do so. Everyone else, follow me. I _will_ hold you to that promise, Claude. All of you are to consider this your first formal combat mission and treat me as your commanding officer.”

“Loud and clear, Teach. Uh, I mean, commander.” 

_Force help me. What have I gotten myself into?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> About time to take some advantage of the totally different setup to this AU. I don't think the Sith would have much use for Lonato, even as a distraction, so he gets to live. No Sword of the Creator to steal from Garreg Mach, either. And Miklan also won't want a family heirloom weapon since it doesn't exist - but he DOES want Sylvain...


	13. Dagda

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: more mentions of previous abuse, more violence

They blindfolded Sylvain, but they didn’t fit Force-dampening handcuffs over him. That wasn’t a surprise - someone like Miklan hardly had the resources to get his hands on something that rare and valuable. He incapacitated Sylvain the old-fashioned way: punching him in the head until he passed out.

It was just like the good old days. Childhood on the Gautier estate had largely consisted of avoiding Miklan and trying very hard not to piss him off. Unfortunately, Miklan was pissed off by Sylvain’s general existence, and Sylvain had enough scars to never forget it. 

When he regained consciousness, the blindfold was gone, but that didn’t help much. He was inside an abandoned warehouse. Smugglers like Miklan and his crew would have dozens of these hideouts. He’d never been to Dagda - there was no way of knowing what part of the planet this building was in. 

The bond with Felix was quiet. Even that had its limits. Well, maybe that was good; the last thing he wanted was his friends getting hurt trying to rescue him. It was better this way. 

Miklan’s crew lounged about, drinking and playing cards. There was an assortment of species there, but none of their faces looked friendly. The best Sylvain could sense was indifference - some of them didn’t care about the boss’ personal grudge against his little brother, but they’d hardly lift a finger to help him, either. The important part is that there were _far_ too many for him to fight his way out of here. 

Sylvain took a deep breath. Centering himself or whatever shit the Jedi would say to do in this situation. There was no way out of this. He needed to calm down and focus on surviving the interactions with his brother.

Miklan wouldn’t hesitate to murder him. But he was also greedy. He’d rather bleed their father dry of credits than kill the golden goose. 

Hopefully. 

Miklan was in a good mood when he returned, and Sylvain saw why: the lightsaber was clipped to his belt. Miklan smirked as he paced over to the chair his brother was tied to. 

“I never got why they made such a big deal about these,” Miklan said, activating the saber with a flourish. The green blade came within a few centimeters of Sylvain’s face, clipping through a lock of his hair; Sylvain didn’t flinch, didn’t give him the satisfaction.

The answer was obvious: sabers were deceptively light, lacking the feedback of a vibro-sword. Without the Force, it was extremely easy for someone to lose control, cut off their own hand - or worse. But reminding Miklan of _that_ was hardly a good idea.

His silence, and lack of reaction to the threat, just seemed to annoy his brother. With a scowl, Miklan deactivated the saber, then casually clubbed Sylvain over the head with the hilt of the weapon.

“Dear old dad’s refusing to take my calls - nothing new there. He’ll change his tune once he gets wind of this, though. Can’t let anything happen to his precious heir. I’ll clean him out - every credit I can get my hands on, _or else_.” 

Still, Sylvain said nothing. It was the right move. Miklan grunted and seemed to grow bored of taunting him. He stomped away and cut himself into one of the crew’s games. 

Sylvain closed his eyes. His head throbbed from the latest blow, and nobody seemed interested in giving him any food or water. He forced himself to ignore the pain, hunger, and thirst. Breathe in, breathe out - keep calm - survive. 

* * *

Hubert was beside himself. Not only had their plan failed, but Edelgard then ran off without him. It couldn’t be helped, though; it would hardly make any sense for her to insist that her manservant accompany them on this harebrained scheme.

He couldn’t even vent properly, because she’d made the call in the crowded Jedi ship. They weren’t talking of anything important, after all. 

“... and the injuries from the attack?” 

“Knight Hrym got the worst of it, but he will recover quickly.” Hubert’s eyes, quietly furious, told the rest of the story: _Give the word and I’ll drive a knife into his heart._

Edelgard shook her head slightly. The plan’s failure hadn’t been Jeritza’s fault; Byleth was too good of a duelist. It had been over from the moment the turret fired and alerted the group to the danger. So really, it was all Miklan Gautier’s fault. He must have acted against orders to grab his brother. 

She didn’t have any particular reason to save Sylvain, but there was no good reason not to, either. She’d simply gone along with the plan once Claude had suggested it.

“I’m glad to hear that. Please convey my regrets that he was injured defending us.” _Don’t touch him_. “I’m also worried about Garreg Mach, under the circumstances. Can you ask the clan to augment its defenses?” _And don’t send anyone after me. I can handle this._

Hubert nodded reluctantly. “As you command, my lord.” 

“You worry too much, Hubert. We can handle a ragtag band of smugglers.” 

She ended the call and turned to see Claude, who’d made absolutely no pretense that he was doing anything but eavesdropping. Edelgard sighed. “Has anyone told you you’re entirely too curious for your own good, Riegan?” 

“Once or twice, but I just can’t help myself. I want to know everything there is to know about you, princess.” The flirtatious words didn’t match the look on his face one bit.

She shook her head. “You missed nothing of importance; Hubert is worried about me, of course. This is the second time I’ve left him behind - and the second I’ve been attacked.” 

“Yeah, funny how that’s been happening… So, you think I was on to something?” 

Edelgard paused, but only for a moment. _Not_ agreeing would simply look more suspicious. “I thought you were jumping at shadows, but… the second attack adds more evidence to your theory. They specifically chose Ilum and the saber forge to attack, as if it is the Jedi themselves they are angry at.” 

Claude nodded. “And the mask that guy was wearing… I got a scan of it and searched the HoloNet. You’ve heard of Revan, surely.” 

“Who hasn’t?” 

“Right, everyone knows Revan. _Not_ everyone is aware that the Revanites were a splinter faction of the Sith, thousands of years ago. Their stated purpose was to reform the crumbling Sith Empire - to stop the pointless in-fighting, conduct the war with honor, and so forth.” Claude smirked at her. “Naive fools, if you ask me.” 

Edelgard didn’t bat an eye. “Perhaps; still, our attacker chose that symbol for a reason. Are they trying to tell us they’re not the same as the other Sith?” 

“Guess so. Between you and me, I’d love to sit down and talk to them.” 

“Really. After they tried to kill us. Twice.” 

“Really! Information is power. I want to know _why_ they have a grudge against the Jedi, why they picked that peculiar symbol, if there _are_ factions at play within the Sith - well, everything, really. But Rhea is gonna stab first and ask questions later, we both know that.” 

“You’re an odd little man,” Edelgard said. 

“I’ll take that as a compliment, princess.” Claude winked and walked away, a swagger in his step. 

Bringing Claude into her confidence was a ridiculous notion. He acted open-minded now, but that would change if he actually _knew_ she was Sith. 

Either way - she needed to know more about him. He’d appeared from nowhere a year ago, and he didn’t act very much like a Fodlan System Jedi - nor a Sith agent, for that matter. She made a mental note to have Hubert investigate the matter more intently. 

* * *

“This is a complete waste of time,” Felix hissed, shoving loose hairs savagely out of his face. “I can _feel_ where he is, you know.” 

“We’ve been over this. We know _nothing_ about the number of people Miklan has in his gang, or the nature of their defenses. We agreed to gather intelligence first.” Mercedes was serene, despite the chaos in the kitchen around them. 

The original plan had been for Ashe and his crew to pretend to be customers, but when Annette managed to start a fire over the appetizers, they swapped positions slightly. Now Ashe was the head cook, mercifully, since he was the only one who actually knew how to run a kitchen. Felix and Dimitri had started as waiters, but after Felix’s snarling scared off the first of the customers, they shoved him back here and put Annette out front instead. 

The cantina was the most popular one in Tuatha, Dagda’s capital. The actual employees were all stuffed into one of the food closets. Dimitri insisted on leaving a week’s wages of credits and apologized profusely for their treatment - another waste of time, but the Rancor _did_ enjoy pretending to be kind and just when his mask was up.

“And when none of Miklan’s crew shows up? What do we do then?” 

“I’m the smuggler, here,” Ashe said mildly, not looking up from the meat dish he was seasoning. “When we get a moment of down-time, we _always_ visit cantinas.” 

Felix put all of his frustration into the vegetables, chopping with particular gusto.

“Speaking of which - I was wondering if you could tell us the nature of Miklan’s reputation among the, ah, criminal underworld,” Mercedes said, quietly, as if Felix would snap at any moment. (He supposed that was a fair assumption). 

Ashe’s face fell. “It’s… not good. Most of his jobs are for the Hutts, and most of _those_ involve the slave trade. Rumor is that most of his victims come from the Gautier continent of Faerghus, which, now that I know who he is, makes a lot of sense.” 

“No wonder Dorothea changed her mind so quickly. I gather she’s particularly disgusted by slavers,” Mercedes said. 

“Something like that, yeah...”

Their comms beeped into life. Annette, sounding frantic. “Someone’s here - but _not_ one of Miklan’s! It’s -” 

“Oh, _great_ ,” Felix grimaced, as a very familiar presence started washing over him through the Force. “Now we’ve done it.”

Byleth’s expression was the same as it always was - blank, emotionless - but as he ordered all of them to shed their cantina-worker disguises and join him outside, the Faerghus padawans had the distinct impression of being wayward students called into the principal’s office for a lecture. 

Dimitri spoke first. “If anyone is to be punished, let it be me, sir. This could not have happened without my explicit approval. I am-” 

Felix didn’t have time for the Rancor’s wallowing. “How did you find us?” he interrupted, scowling at their instructor.

“You’re entirely too predictable, Felix. I sensed immediately that you would run off on your own, so I planted a tracker on you. I’m actually relieved that you waited for your friends instead of going by yourself.”

Felix winced and patted down his clothing. Eventually he spotted the bug on the hilt of one of his new sabers, and snatched it off, crushing it under his boot. “They insisted.” 

“Sir, please. I know we are to be punished, but let us rescue Sylvain first. I’m afraid Margrave Gautier will refuse to negotiate - and in that case, Miklan _will_ kill him.” Dimitri again, with disgusting earnestness. 

“Grandmaster Rhea gave me strict orders to round you all up and bring you home. However-” Byleth lifted a hand to cut off their protests. “Given the situation here… I actually agree with you. Miklan Gautier is far too unpredictable, and the father shows no sign of paying the ransom. We must rescue Sylvain ourselves.” 

Felix blinked. “You’ll… help us?” 

“ _You_ will help _me_. As of this moment, I am in command,” Byleth said, firmly, but not harshly. “This cantina charade was a decent idea, but unnecessary. Claude sliced the planetary network and located Miklan. He and the other students are scouting out the compound now.” 

Leonie rocked on the balls of her feet. “All right! I get to see Jeralt’s son in action.” 

“-What she means is, my crew and I are happy to help,” Ashe said quickly. “If you’ll have us, sir.” 

Byleth didn’t smile, but his expression looked ever so slightly less stern. “I’d hoped you’d say that, Captain Ubert. I devised three plans to break into the compound - but with your cooperation, we can use the scheme with the highest probability of success.” 

* * *

An hour later, when he was walking up to the front door of Miklan Gautier’s compound, Ashe was regretting how quickly he’d volunteered for the Jedi’s plan.

(Specifically, he’d been ordered to _swagger up there like he owns the place_ , but he was entirely too nervous to pull THAT off. Luckily, Dorothea’s default stage of being was owning the place; and Leonie and Petra both had all the confidence he didn’t).

He knocked on the door. One of those Hutt eyeball droids was set in the center of it. It jutted out and stared at each of them in turn. 

“Who goes there?” it rumbled in Huttese. 

“Captain Ashe Ubert of the _Kyphon_. I have a business proposition for Captain Gautier. He’s gonna want to hear it.” 

Dorothea jerked on the rope for emphasis. Felix stumbled forward, snarling. Ashe figured she hadn’t warned him she was about to jerk him forward, which was for the best, because Felix was not a very good actor, but he _was_ naturally prickly. 

There was a pause as the droid relayed the message. Then it receded into the wall without another word. The doors to the compound began their slow, ponderous opening. 

Felix flicked a finger towards the sole security camera, then nodded. Their signal for it being out of commission. Petra sprang into action, flipping open a panel on the other side of the doors. If she could slice through their defenses, the doors wouldn’t shut again, allowing the rest of their party to storm into action.

For now, Ashe’s job was to keep Miklan talking. He squared his shoulders and walked forward with a confidence he didn’t feel, Dorothea and Leonie prodding their “prisoner” to follow him. 

Their first sight of Sylvain was him slumped in a chair, half-conscious. Bruises, some a day-old, some fresh, marred his face. Ashe’s blood boiled at the thought of a brother treating a brother like this. He had a few younger siblings, himself, and he’d sacrifice anything in the Galaxy for them. The thought of putting a hand on them…

He channeled the anger into his voice, facing down Miklan. “You’re spoiling the goods, Gautier. I thought you were better than this.” 

“Who the fuck are _you_?” Miklan sneered, stalking forward, the jerky movements of some predator beast. 

Behind him, Sylvain’s eyes snapped open. He stared at their group, mouth dropping open. Out of the corner of his eye, Ashe noticed Felix shake his head slightly. Supposedly, they could talk with their minds, which was why Felix had been chosen as the “prisoner.” Ashe guessed they were doing it now. Handy, that. 

“I introduced myself at your door. For now, what you need to know is that I want in on this.” 

“Oh yeah? And what’s _this_?” 

Ashe pointed at Felix. Leonie shoved her electrostaff into his legs, forcing him to kneel in front of Miklan. “One heir is good. Two is better. Surely you recognize Felix Fraldarius.” 

Miklan sneered. “Sure. He was the biggest crybaby in my little brother’s group of idiots.”

“I’ll kill you, you bastard,” Felix growled.

Dorothea slapped him across the face, muttering an apology that only their “prisoner” could see. Out loud, she said, “Shut up, Jedi.” 

Ashe crossed his arms over his chest. “It’s been an entire day, and still no word from Margrave Gautier. I figured I’d help you out. With the heirs to their two most powerful noble houses in our possession, they’ll have no choice. The Regent will get involved and pressure them to pay.” 

Miklan’s eyes narrowed. “How did you find out about this?” 

“I have a contract to supply the Jedi Enclave,” he said, truthfully enough. “They couldn’t keep the fact that a padawan went missing quiet. When I found out it was Sylvain, I put two and two together. We’ve both done jobs for Jarro, so I’d heard of you.” 

“And how did you track me _here?_ ” 

Leonie jabbed her staff into Felix’s back again. “We caught _this_ idiot, trying to run off on his own. Said there was some sort of Force connection between them, that he could find Sylvain anywhere. A little pain convinced him to see things our way.” 

“Force connection, huh?” Miklan looked speculatively at Sylvain, then struck him across the face again. He laughed as Felix rocked back, as if he’d been struck himself. “Oh, I was _hoping_ it worked like that! This is gonna be fun.” 

“Y-you shouldn’t damage the merchandise like that,” Ashe said, trying to fight the stutter out of his voice. “If you go too far and do anything _permanent_ -”

“Are you calling me incomptent, Ubert?” Miklan snarled as he drew Sylvain’s lightsaber from his belt and jabbed it in Ashe’s direction. Leonie acted on instinct, blocking the blade with her staff, forcing it wide of Ashe’s face. 

A moment of total, tense, silence followed. 

“Let’s all calm down,” Dorothea said quickly. “There’s plenty of profit for both our crews, if we can work together.” 

“Or,” Miklan drawled, “we can kill all of you - and take this fine gift you’ve brought. Guess you naive kids didn’t realize we have you outnumbered five to one.” 

“We thought of that, actually,” Dorothea said, smiling sweetly at him. “Which is why we have something up our back pocket. Something _you_ were too stupid to notice.”

“Oh yeah?” 

“Felix still has his lightsabers.” 

Several things happened at once. Miklan swore at the top of his lungs and lunged clumsily at Ashe once more, but Felix was faster, catching the green blade on one of his own. Leonie followed it up with a clubbing blow from her staff. Dorothea drew a blaster from _somewhere_ and started firing stun bolts in all directions. Ashe threw himself forward and pulled the vibroknife from his belt, sawing at the ropes covering Sylvain.

The younger Gautier tried to fight him, jerking his body back and forth. “You shouldn’t have come! He’s just gonna hurt _you_ , too.” 

“It’s okay,” Ashe assured him. “It’s not _just_ us. The others will be here… Well, right about now, I guess.” 

It was over the moment Petra got the doors to stay open. Miklan’s crew were killers, but this was entirely too many Jedi for mere smugglers to contend with. The students quickly disabled them with non-lethal blows of Force and the hilts of their sabers. 

“Glad to see you’re alright, Sylvain,” Byleth said, stepping through the carnage with a serene look on his face. “Marianne, Mercedes - tend to his wounds, if you please.” 

The ropes that had once bound him were firmly tied around Miklan. The older Gautier struggled and spat curses, but to no avail. Both of Felix’s blades, colored an angry orange, were at his neck.

“Lower your weapons, Felix. He has no chance at escaping. Unless you intend to kill an unarmed man,” Byleth said.

“He’d deserve it,” Felix spat, but he complied after a moment’s hesitation. 

“Slave-trading is a crime. We’ll let the Republic courts deal with this. The important part is that we retrieved Sylvain.”

“A lot of trouble for little old me,” the younger Gautier said. The bruises were starting to vanish under the healers’ ministrations, and a familiar smirk settled over his face. “I could kiss you right about now, sir.” 

“Please don’t,” Byleth said, the joke sailing over his head to join all of the other jokes they’d thrown in his direction. “And do not thank me yet. Grandmaster Rhea is no doubt furious at all of us for disobeying her direct orders. We must all return to Garreg Mach and face our punishment.” 

Dorothea sidled up to Ashe, speaking in a whisper: “What did I tell you? Jedi. More trouble than they’re worth.”

“Oh, come on. You enjoyed that,” he said, grinning.

“A little,” she admitted. “One less slaver scum running around is a positive in my book.” 

“See? Sometimes, doing the right thing is its own reward.” 

“Mmm, maybe, but I wouldn’t mind a more _conventional_ reward. Gautier is a rich family, you know.” 

“I am _very_ rich, actually,” Sylvain called. Dimitri and Ingrid had helped him to stand, an arm around each of their shoulders. “I’d love to sit down and discuss that with you. Over drinks?”

Dorothea rolled her eyes. “I changed my mind - we should’ve left him to rot.” 

For some reason, Felix looked equally murderous. Which was weird. Wasn’t he happy they’d saved his friend? 

Well, Ashe thought, maybe he was just mad about all the times they’d had to hit him to make the plan work. Anyone would be, really. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * We have basically nothing to go on with Dagda in canon, besides the fact that they're more technologically advanced and don't seem to have much going on Crest-wise. I think that fits a droid-producing, multi-cultural planet pretty well. 
> 
> * S/O to the literal dozens of Blue Lions modern restaurant AUs I've read here for inspiring the cantina scene lol. There are too many to link but I enjoy them all.


	14. Days 15-31

Grandmaster Rhea was just as furious as Byleth had predicted. Face stern, she ordered all of the padawans be given a week’s worth of extra lectures, ensuring they’d have no free time from the moment they woke up until the moment they fell asleep. (The students accepted without a word of protest; Byleth could tell they were simply relieved Sylvain was back, and would have subjected themselves to anything).

As for him… Rhea ordered him to follow her back into her private quarters. He sensed a couple of the padawans sending sympathy in his direction, though he didn’t acknowledge it. He would doubtless be punished more severely than them, but that was proper - they were mere children, and he was a Jedi Knight. Of all of them, he’d been most aware of what a foolish idea this had been, but he’d gone right along with it. 

So he was somewhat baffled when Rhea gestured for him to sit down at a small table and started pouring him a cup of tea.

“Please, don’t be nervous,” she said. “I invited you here as ‘just Rhea,’ not the Grandmaster of the Enclave.” 

Byleth couldn’t help the frown that came to his lips, though he covered it with the teacup. This was quite improper, and it brought to mind all of his reservations about the woman. “Understood,” he said curtly.   
  
“You must get your manners from your father,” Rhea sighed. “Speaking of - has he ever told you how we met?” 

“You know Jeralt - he rarely talks about the past.” Or much of anything, really. It wasn’t unusual for Jedi to know who their parents were, but both he and Jeralt were quite proper about it, keeping one another at a comfortable arm’s length. Jeralt had transferred away from the Enclave after Sitri’s death, when Byleth was a fresh padawan under Seteth. These days, they exchanged the odd holo-message, little more. 

“When I first met him, he was quite young - a boy without any training to speak of. I was off-world, searching for more Sensitives in the System. We were waylaid by pirates, and Jeralt jumped in front of an attack meant for me. I healed his wounds myself - and brought him back to the Enclave for formal training.” 

“He never told me that…” Byleth’s mind raced. Jeralt’s Republic personnel file made no secret of his own age - he’d been 33 when Byleth was born, and was approaching 57 now. For Rhea’s story to be true, _she_ would have to be pushing 80, at least, which was very much _not_ what _her_ file said. 

“Not many people know that story - even here at the Enclave,” Rhea said, as if reading his thoughts. (She was powerful - she very well might have been). “But I trust _you_ , twice over. You are the child of the one who saved my life, as well as my grandson.” 

“Grandmaster… I don’t believe this is a good idea,” Byleth said, setting his teacup back firmly onto its saucer. “I’m causing you to forget your place.” 

“How rude,” she murmured. “You truly are your father’s son.” 

“I don’t mean to be unkind, but you are not objective when it comes to me. I should be punished, not… invited to tea.” 

Rhea’s aura flickered with something Byleth very much did not like the feel of. “You are the only family I have left, now that your mother is gone… Still. You are correct; it is important that I do not overstep.”

“I apologize for my harsh words, and thank you for the tea.” Byleth bowed low, then left the room, moving just a little too quickly.

But the emotions he’d felt, roiling off the Grandmaster, with Rhea making no effort to hide them… He wasn’t sure even she realized the extent of her affection for him. Protectiveness could easily become possessiveness, and push one down the path to the Dark Side - even if one was a Grandmaster of the Jedi Order.

Why _had_ she kept Sitri so close? Why hadn’t any of the Jedi intervened? She’d been allowed to develop a _most_ unhealthy relationship with her daughter, and she seemed ready to continue that with Byleth without missing a beat. 

This wasn’t good - for Rhea, or for any of them. Byleth resolved to broach the matter with Seteth the next time they spoke. 

* * *

A week-long punishment wasn’t too bad, really. Claude suspected that Rhea was secretly relieved they’d retrieved Sylvain so quickly. Her allowing the Gautier heir to get kidnapped hadn’t looked good, and the Jedi handling the matter themselves - and with such speed - would soften the blow with the Margrave. 

Still, the Knights were extra-vigilant about policing the punishment. Knight-Captain Charon ordered extra patrols at night, and even Claude wasn’t able to sneak down to the basement for another pazaak game. He communicated with the Wolves by message, sticking to a prearranged, cryptic code.

Yuri hadn’t learned anything from Ashe, but was investigating the Ordelia angle. Balthus had talked Hilda into gossiping, so that was good. Constance and Hapi both felt that their suspicions were confirmed. Nothing concrete, but Dimitri was going to be in trouble, and Ferdinand had spoken vaguely about the unfortunate situation on Adrestia. 

It all came back to Adrestia. And if Claude had to pick one of his fellow students to have the combination of intelligence, courage, and determination required to go up against the Jedi Order itself, he’d pick Edelgard, nine times out of ten. The fact that the Revanite had tried to kill her, along with him and Dimitri, meant nothing - the whole thing might have been a ruse. (Hell, it’s the kind of thing _he’d_ do, just to establish his cover). 

Judith would say he needed more information. That he shouldn’t narrow his focus so early into the investigation. Claude ignored her advice, as good as it was. He’d gotten this far by relying on his instincts, not just the intel. That was the kind of thing you could get away with when you were blessed with a connection to the Force. 

He made his move once their punishment week was at an end, cornering her after their first lecture of the day. 

“You. Me. Holochess. What do you say?” 

She blinked at him. “What’s brought this on?” 

“Oh, you know. I love to play, but nobody else around here can keep up with me,” he said with an easy grin. “Based on our exam scores, my best prospects for a decent challenge are you - or Sylvain, but I’d rather play with you.” 

Edelgard’s eyes narrowed. “Why?” 

He considered the flirtatious answer, but instinct warned him against it. (Not that he was opposed, but she didn’t seem too receptive). “You’d take it more seriously. I’ve only known Sylvain a couple weeks, but I can already tell the kind of guy he is. He’s naturally smart - but doesn’t put the effort in.”

She nodded. “I agree. I’d find you a more challenging opponent for the same reasons.” 

“So - the Archives, after dinner? Now that we’re out of detention and can do that sort of thing.”

“Perhaps. I’ll send you a message if I have the time.” 

That was the best he was going to get, so he left it there. But Claude wasn’t too surprised when he _did_ get the message telling him to come to the Archives. Edelgard’s natural state of being was ‘aloof,’ but she wanted this as much as he did. 

He had the board set up before she arrived. For once, that manservant wasn’t looming behind her shoulder like a holo-movie vampire. Claude wouldn’t be surprised if he’d spent the last hour combing the Archives for traps, though; Hubert just seemed like that kind of guy. 

They exchanged cursory greetings before she sat across from him, immediately intent on the game. He let her take the first move - that way, she’d set the strategy for the entire game, and he’d learn more about her style. 

Because - yeah, this was for fun, but he also wanted to take her measure. If Edelgard _was_ his opponent, what was she capable of? 

She opened by directing one of her center pawn-monsters two spaces forward. He let her play the gambit out until the Killik-queen was in play. One wrong move would be checkmate given its path to attack against his senator. 

“I wasn’t born yesterday, princess,” Claude snorted, pushing a pawn out to block her attack. “You’re not beating me in four moves.” 

Edelgard shrugged, unapologetic. “Just checking.” 

They didn’t speak again after that, intent on the game. Edelgard seized the advantage and didn’t let up, forcing Claude to play defensively at every turn. She didn’t mind sacrificing her pieces if it could keep the attack going, but she only did so when Claude would be forced to give up equivalent value. 

He was thinking a few moves ahead, so he saw it at the same time she did. Her path to checkmate. If he didn’t break out of the defensive, he’d lose the match. Throwing caution to the winds, he pushed his last remaining rancor up against her bug-queen. 

Edelgard allowed herself a smirk, but it quickly faded when the monster clobbered the queen into submission. “The odds of that move succeeding are-” 

“One in ten - I know.” Unlike static board games, holochess did have some element of randomness, the pieces dueling one another before one of them left the board. The bug-queen had the highest stats, obviously, so attacking her with a single piece was usually a poor choice, but… 

Claude grinned at her. “We both know I would lose the game if I didn’t. Your tactics were perfect. But sometimes, you just gotta pick chaos - and hope it breaks your way.” 

Edelgard nodded, acknowledging the point. “You were right. This _was_ fun.” 

“And enlightening.” 

“Oh?”

Perhaps he should keep his observations to himself - but this game was fun, and it wasn’t over yet. “You’re aggressive, but not overly aggressive. I suspect you like getting the bug-queen out early, since it gives you the most avenues to attack and control the game. You favor conventional tactics and don’t leave your engagements to chance when you can help it.”

Edelgard pursed her lips. “I wish I could say the same. You were holding back, I’m certain of it. Unless you seriously expect me to believe you always play such a defensive game.” 

“Only one way to find out. I can go first next time.” 

“You’d like there to be a next time, wouldn’t you?” 

“I think we both know the feeling’s mutual.” Claude smirked as he spun the board around. 

She scoffed at his tone of voice, but waited for him to move the first piece, anyway. 

* * *

Once the interminable week of their group detention was over, Felix fell back into his usual pattern: afternoon spars against Leonie. She had other business on the last day of the month, though, leaving him up against the droids. Felix wasn’t alone for long; a familiar presence soon interrupted him. 

Sylvain. Ever since that talk with Seteth - and _especially_ since the Miklan incident - Felix had been increasingly conscious of how much stronger their bond was. It was deeply unpleasant to have so many of Sylvain’s stupid _feelings_ \- lust, mostly, occasionally shock/pain when a girl slapped him across the face - darting between them, but also... 

Well, he’d gotten used to it. There was something oddly comforting about there being one other person who you were this close to. And if it had to be one of the three, he was glad things had worked out this way. 

Besides, if not for their connection, they might have never located Sylvain. And _that_ didn’t bear thinking about. He’d take all of the secondhand slaps - better than his last-ever sensation of Sylvain being the pulsating fear and dismay as Miklan carried him away. 

Sylvain, mercifully, waited until he was done with the routine to start his annoying chatter. “Hey Felix! You’re done training, right? Let’s go into town and find some girls.” 

“No. I’m _not_ done training.” He pointed one of his sabers at Sylvain. “You should practice more, yourself. I’m half-convinced you’re studying Soresu because a defensive style is so much less work.” 

“Guilty,” Sylvain said with an easy grin, but (thanks to the bond, again) Felix could tell he was lying. Sylvain’s actual motivation was a complicated thing, though, and the other boy had it clamped down tight. “At least I know how to take a break.” 

“All you _do_ is ‘take breaks’!”

“Yeah? So?” 

“ _So,_ it’s annoying when I’m in the middle of something complicated and your stupid flirting starts up and distracts me,” Felix said, more savagely than he’d intended. 

It _was_ annoying, though, now Sylvain had thrown himself back into the same stupid patterns the moment he’d recovered from his injuries. Not taking his training seriously, throwing himself at girls, even though he didn’t want them. 

Sylvain was silent for several seconds, staring at his hands. Eventually he looked back up, giving Felix an odd look. “Ah… shit. Sorry. I should’ve realized it sooner.” 

“Realized _what_?” 

“It’s just... I don’t like to use the bond too much, you know? It feels kinda gross. Like how using a mind trick to get dates would be an abuse of my Force privileges. I know you didn’t really want it, so I try to respect that.” 

“Now you’re rambling,” Felix muttered. 

“-But I was just hurting you _more_ by refusing to see the obvious. Okay. No more girls.” 

Felix blinked at him. “ _What_?” 

“No more girls,” Sylvain repeated. “You were right - what you said when we first got here. They were only chasing me for my name and title back on Faerghus. The rest of the galaxy doesn’t give a damn about that. So why keep punishing them - and myself - for it?” 

“... What brought this on?”

Sylvain looked at him like he was stupid. “I _told_ you, I finally looked at the bond. I get it now.” 

“Get _what_?” 

“Are you telling me you seriously don’t…” Sylvain sighed. “Well, that makes sense. No pressure, okay? Forget I said anything. Let’s just train.” 

Felix was still confused, but he’d take it. Sparring was better than talking, and Sylvain was a good opponent. He was studying the most defensive of the seven saber forms, and with Felix learning Juyo, it was an excellent opportunity to practice dueling under the worst case scenario. If he couldn’t break through Sylvain’s guard quickly, the other man would win by conserving his energy and taking advantage of Felix tiring himself out. 

He had the faint sensation that Sylvain was laughing at him through their Force connection, but he still had no idea what he was missing. He pushed it aside, preferring to focus on their fight. 

* * *

Mercedes walked into Jeritza’s quarters the moment he was released from the medical bay. She carried the ice cream dessert in front of her like a battering ram, and put it down firmly on the Knight’s desk against all of his objections.

“You’re still the same person, and you will like it,” she said, her voice brooking no argument.

Sheepishly, under her glare, he dug out a spoonful and swallowed. “It has been some time since I’ve tasted something this good…”

“Of course. I used the same recipe as mother did.” 

Jeritza grimaced (though he did keep eating). “I told you before. The little brother you once loved… He is no longer here.”

“Mmm, yes. I _was_ wondering how you changed your Force signature so completely. Even _I_ didn’t recognize you as Emile - I had to rely on your appearance, as if I was a Force-Blind!” She chuckled at the thought. “I think I’m beginning to see. Jeritza doesn’t feel the same as Emile, because he _isn’t_. And the one who attacked us the other day…” 

Her brother blanched. “ _He_ only cares for killing. I would not… like to talk about him.” 

“That day, with your father…” 

“Yes,” he said abruptly. 

“Then that changes everything!” 

Emile - Jeritza - scoffed. “Are you here to redeem me? To save my soul? Yes, that was _him_ , but I welcomed _him._ I desperately wanted that monster to die, and I didn’t have the strength to do it, so I… became someone who did. But the blood is on my hands!” 

“I think we both know the kind of man my step-father was,” Mercedes said firmly. “Even as a Jedi, I can’t find it in my heart to forgive him. No boy your age could possibly be expected to do so. There’s a reason Master Seteth heard the whole story and still let you become a Knight, is there not?” 

“Ah… So you know about that.” The bowl was completely picked clean; she smiled to herself as he pushed it back towards her. 

“I think you told Seteth the truth. That you lost control to protect me.” Mercedes held up a hand to cut off his objections. “And what happened at the saber-forge… I believe, I _know_ deep in the Force, that you were protecting me again.” 

Without anything to hold now, her brother’s hands twisted up against each other. “I… I cannot explain any of the details.”

“I’m not asking you to. I just want you to know that I appreciate it. And… if circumstances change and _you_ need protection, your big sister is here for you. That’s all.” 

“Regardless of his motives, a monster is a monster,” he muttered.

“There’s no talking to you when you’re like this,” she sighed. Waving a hand, she dispelled the Force-barrier that had prevented anyone - Sylvain, for example - from overhearing their conversation, and gathered up the empty bowl. “I will come back tomorrow with another.” 

Emile was at least six feet tall, a full grown man, but he still sneered at her like a little boy throwing a tantrum. “I’ll refuse to eat it.”

“I think we both know _that’s_ not true,” Mercedes said, and walked serenely out of his quarters. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * I could just do interpersonal conversations for a whole fic but it's time to get the plot moving. The next few chapters will all take up an entire month as we finally start pointing this thing towards the timeskip, lol 
> 
> * I made a passing reference to Jeralt being at the Enclave in an early chapter but went back to edit it to be in line with this chapter. 
> 
> * Sylvain: takes one look at the Force Bond with Felix and realizes, oh fuck, that guy has it for me bad. Felix: oblivious to his own feelings. 
> 
> * Jeritza gets to quote TLJ because I love that movie.


	15. Month 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> light CW for a character's self-hatred

It was… pleasant, spending time with Marianne. She and Dimitri had more similarities than feeling burdened by their Force abilities. She’d been adopted by Margrave Edmund, one of the most ambitious politicians on Leicester - so she, too, knew what it felt like to be groomed for immense responsibility from a young age. And they were both equally happy to get away from it all - a walk through the forest surrounding the Enclave after their lectures ended, most days. Few words were exchanged, but the presence of another was comforting. 

In addition to her clairvoyance, Marianne had another special ability - an affinity for the minds of animals. With the Force, she could call a songbird down and more or less speak to it; she did so out loud for Dimitri’s benefit, asking for a song or simply inquiring as to how the animal’s day had been.

It was certainly nicer than Dimitri’s talent for using the Force to enhance his own strength and speed to superhuman levels. _That_ had little application outside of killing other sentient creatures in combat. 

_“That’s all you’re meant for, anyway. Why did you survive if not to avenge us?”_ Glenn sneered, the expression on his face painfully similar to that of Felix. 

It had been so long since the ghosts had bothered him with Marianne, he’d dared to dream… but no, here they were again. He sighed and rubbed at his eyes, but all three flickering forms remained when he opened them again. His father and stepmother, arm in arm; Glenn, a little apart, standing so as to emphasize the deep gash on his neck. 

“Dimitri,” Marianne said quietly, jolting him back to reality. 

“I… apologize. I was distracted.” 

“If it would help… You can tell me what you see,” she said, stumbling over the words. “O-only if it would help! I don’t mean to add to your burden!” 

It didn’t take him long to make up his mind. He shook his head and touched her arm briefly to calm her. “No, I do believe it might help. And naturally I would extend you the same courtesy, should you suffer from a particularly unpleasant vision.” 

Dimitri described them - looking very much the same as they had in life, but obviously incorporeal. A faint blue light surrounded them, the most obvious sign that they were something other than what they’d been. But the most vivid color was the angry red of their blood, the wounds that had killed them still open and raw.

Marianne’s brow furrowed. “The Masters talked about the dead returning from the Force, but not… not like that. Sith are bound to a place or object that they coveted - haunting it. And Jedi spirits are the opposite - detached, rarely manifesting as an identity at all.” 

“Yes… This is different. Perhaps they died with too much regret to fully pass on. If so… My responsibility is clear. I must carry out their final wishes - and bring them peace.” 

He’d spoken normally, but the words still caused her to shudder. “Dimitri… the awful future I saw for you, the first time we met… I saw today. I heard you saying that. And everything that follows, I… I can’t bear it.” 

“I apologize for bringing you pain, Marianne, but I cannot step aside from that path. Perhaps it would be better for you if you let me walk it alone. I don’t wish to bring you any pain…” Dimitri closed his eyes, certain she’d take him up on it. Lambert, jeering into his ear: _“Don’t be a fool. Why would she want to be with a beast like you, anyway?”_

Her hand slipped into his, and she looked up at him with a rare boldness in her expression. “I will not. Aren’t you the one who said our fates can be changed?” 

“I did say that - but in this case, they must be avenged,” he cautioned her. 

“Yes… but you needn’t throw everything else away to do it!” 

They both looked to their linked hands - and pulled back at the same moment, blushing and stuttering apologizes for the over-familiarity. 

_For fuck’s sake,_ Dimitri heard Sylvain say into his mind. 

_Were you watching me? I wish you wouldn’t -_

_No, we just ‘heard’ your heart beating out of your chest from a mile away. It interrupted Felix’s training. He’s_ very _grumpy. So just kiss her, already._

He pushed Sylvain out of his mind with a silent effort of will. He would not be doing that. He _couldn’t_ do that. Marianne didn’t deserve to be brought down to his level - to wallow in the mud with the Rancor, as Felix called it. She might think she could walk beside him, but even with her clairvoyance, she didn’t realize what that meant. 

Dimitri cleared his throat. “Shall we go back?”

The expression on Marianne’s face was hard to read, but she nodded quickly. “Yes - yes, let’s return.” 

_“It’s better this way,”_ Patricia sang into his ear. _“This task is for you alone - never forget that.”_

He was hardly likely to, with the three of them haunting his every movement. He shuddered slightly as they started to walk back. 

* * *

The single main benefit of spending time in their forest command center was not having to maintain his ridiculous cover as a mere servant. So Hubert was not pleased when the main source of his torment barged in, especially since he was in the middle of an encrypted call back to Intelligence headquarters.

“If the Ochs family still maintains that position, well… they wouldn’t want anything to happen to their daughter, now would they?” 

“Hubert! Did you just say what I think you did?” Ferdinand was right at his side, bristling with righteous indignation.

He rolled his eyes and ended the transmission. “I suppose there’s no use denying it.”

“But Edelgard-” 

“-Wishes to convert the other noble families by proving she will be a better ruler than Arundel. I know. But sometimes, a stick must be applied along with the carrot.” 

“I cannot believe you! You disobeyed a direct order,” Ferdinand complained. “Are you not supposed to be her most loyal servant?” 

“All that I do, I do for her,” Hubert hissed. He shouldn’t lose control - but he was angry that this arrogant Sith would imply otherwise. “This serves her best interests. She need not concern herself with the… small details, so long as her vision is accomplished.” 

“She would not be pleased to hear of it. She speaks often of acting differently from the way the Sith have always behaved. And I believe in that - that is why I joined you, after all!” Ferdinand shook his head. “If you believe she dealt with Ochs too softly, you should have brought the matter to her attention, and debated her directly!” 

“Oh yes, because you change her mind so often. Have you once convinced her - of anything - with your inane prattling?” 

“You forget yourself,” Ferdinand said, tone suddenly icy. “I will be a Lord of the Sith-” 

“-And I will be the Sith Emperor’s right hand. You are the one who ought to know his place.” Hubert’s hand settled on the hilt of one of his knives. 

“Ugh, I’ve had enough of this. To think, I started to believe you would have some use to us,” Ferdinand complained. 

He turned his back on Hubert, fearless, foolish - it would have been the perfect moment for Hubert to drive the knife into it. But Edelgard would be quite cross with him if Ferdinand turned up dead. Regretfully, the spymaster let the Sith flounce off. 

* * *

“Aren’t you ever going to train?” 

Linhardt blinked down at Caspar, not bothering to stifle a yawn. “We’ve been over this. You can do the fighting for both of us.” 

“Look, I know you can handle yourself with-” Caspar looked in all four directions, lowered his voice to a comically quiet whisper- “ _that_ , but you said yourself, the armor blocks it. What happens if we get ambushed with the rest of the clan around?” 

“... I’ll do what I always do? Let the clan handle it and act as the combat medic?” 

Caspar crossed his arms over his armored chest. “That’s not the point!”

Linhardt sighed. “I can see you’re concerned for me. Very well, if it ever comes to a life and death situation, I will do whatever I have to in order to survive - even if it reveals that to the rest of the clan. Happy now?” 

“I guess that’s good enough,” Caspar grumbled. “And if they have a problem with it, they can throw us both out! It’ll be just you and me against the entire galaxy!” 

“I appreciate that. Really.” Caspar talked a lot, but he usually meant it when he got all serious like that. “But rather than work ourselves up about possible worst-case scenarios, how about you train and I watch you? I can give you some tips - how to tighten up your form, avoid getting exposed, that sort of thing…”

“Oh yeah! That’s a great idea!” 

Linhardt settled down comfortably in the grass as Caspar started going through the motions. A nice way to spend an afternoon, really. And if his eyes happened to close for the entire training session, well… he could always pretend he’d been watching. 

* * *

His old master managed to dodge him for the better part of two weeks - which was very unlike Seteth. The man had his flaws - Flayn would often say he was stern, serious to a fault, and “no fun at all” - but he always made time for both current and former students when they needed it. 

Byleth eventually corned the Master in his office, by the simple trick of barging in without an appointment. As he’d suspected, Seteth was sitting right at his desk. 

“You have been avoiding me.” 

Seteth sighed and set down his pen. “I suppose this childish charade had to end at some point. Forgive me, Byleth.” 

“There’s nothing to forgive. We both know why I’m here, and it’s… an awkward conversation for both of us.” 

“Yes… I understand the Grandmaster made you quite uncomfortable the other day. She spoke of Sitri, and she wanted a familial relationship that you were not prepared to enter into.” Seteth steepled his fingers.

Byleth nodded. “This is not how Jedi should behave around their family. Jeralt - for Force’s sake, Master, I’ve barely seen him since the day I started training. I thought that was how it was for all Jedi.” 

“It’s… complicated,” Seteth said. “You know, of course, that Jedi are discouraged from forming attachment. We aren’t forbidden from having families, but… Most Jedi behave as Jeralt does, ensuring their judgment isn’t clouded by keeping them close. It doesn’t mean that Jeralt doesn’t love you, Byleth - indeed, he must care for you a great deal, or he’d have no issue working alongside you.” 

As he often did, Seteth put his finger on a fear that Byleth himself had barely realized he had. He swallowed through the lump in his throat - _control yourself_. “But you can’t claim that Rhea did not love my mother, or that you do not love Flayn. Yet…” 

“Yet Sitri stayed here, and I kept Flayn at my side. Yes…” Seteth drew the word out, a frown on his face. “There are certain - complications.” 

“You aren’t human.” 

Seteth blinked, but quickly hid his surprise. “Ah… I shouldn’t be surprised. You’ve always been exceptionally intelligent.”

Byleth shrugged. “Rhea told me how she met Jeralt, and it was a simple case of mathematics - and checking the Archive records. She has not aged a day in forty years.” 

Seteth pursed his lips. “I don’t mean to lie to you, Byleth, but this matter is… It’s not my place to tell you. Suffice to say that the three of us… may be the very last of our kind. In a way, we are _much_ closer than family.”

“What was Sitri - my mother? She died so young. If she was really Rhea’s daughter, shouldn’t she have lived many years?” 

“I… Truly, I do not know. I did not ask, either. Flayn and I only came to this Enclave a decade ago, due to… her illness. When I trained you, you were one of my first students in - well, a very long time.” 

“So Rhea has been alone here, effectively the last of her species, for… Force knows how many years,” Byleth muttered to himself. That went a long way towards explaining some of her behavior. 

“If you wish to know more, she is the one you must speak to. I apologize. But please know that I am on your side. The bond between us… it goes beyond master and student; I would consider you a friend.” 

“I believe that, Master - er, Seteth.” The man’s name felt unfamiliar and awkward, but Byleth made his best effort. “And it goes without saying, but your secret is safe with me.” 

“I thought so, but it’s good to hear it. Thank you, Byleth.” 

* * *

“What is it? You had us come all this way,” Ingrid said. She and Ashe had been flying - that much was clear from how their hair stuck up in all directions, though Yuri was far too polite to point such a thing out.

Truthfully, he wanted more intel on Dimitri and Faerghus, but these things took a patient touch. And they had plenty of time. The first step of the operation: pretend to make friends. 

“For this!” he said, removing the covering with a flourish. The way to a man’s heart was through his stomach, they said - well, that went double for Ingrid, if his observations were correct.

Indeed, her eyes just about bugged out of her head. “Can I uh… eat it now? I’m famished after all the flying.”

“Of course! That’s the reason I asked you both here. I understand you have a very refined taste - and I know Ashe is a skilled cook. I’d welcome your feedback.” 

Ingrid stared at the meat, but forced herself to continue the conversation until Ashe had taken his share. “You once worked for House Rowe, didn’t you? Is that how you two met?” 

“Ah, yes. I had a supply contract with the Count.” 

“Yes - and Lonato is one of Rowe’s vassals. He took me to the castle once, for some conference… I never thought I’d meet you again at the Enclave, though! As a student, no less.” Ashe filled his plate - about a third of what Yuri had prepared - allowing Ingrid to spring on the rest, like a tiger on its prey. 

“The Force works in mysterious ways… Or something. I never aspired to be anything but a smuggler - sorry, ‘independent contractor.’ I was floored when the Jedi told me about my gift.” All lies, but no-one had succeeded in getting the truth of Yuri’s background yet, even the SIS. He wasn’t about to start now. 

“Well, if you ever get bored of Jedi stuff… I’d say you could open a cantina, no problem! This is really excellent,” Ashe said, grinning after the first bite.

“Mmmph,” Ingrid agreed, her mouth stuffed full. 

“I _am_ a man of many talents,” Yuri agreed. “But it’s good to have validation.” 

* * *

“... Come on, your little scheme is running me ragged. I already _didn’t_ have credits, and then Hilda asked for a cut, and we’re not _actually_ selling the Roundtable secrets because you won’t let me, and then-” 

Claude grimaced, lifting a hand to cut Balthus off. “Even _if_ I lent you credits… you’d just owe _me_ money instead of the Hutts. I don’t see how that solves your problem.”

“Hey, I bet _your_ debt-collectors would be a lot more polite while they’re breaking my legs. That’s something, right? Or, you know… I could work it off. The future Duke Riegan could probably use a good bodyguard,” Balthus said. 

“Sorry. I’m not in need of your services.” 

The look on the other man’s face was downright unpleasant. “Here’s what has me caught up. Duke Oswald’s only daughter, Tiana. What ever happened to her? If that rumor about her running off to Almyra is true…” 

Claude hid a grimace. Balthus acted like a fool, but was a lot more perceptive than he let on, and knew a lot more about Leicester politics. Both of these traits were not ideal when he also owed a ton of credits to people who would pay dearly for information about the mysterious Claude Riegan. 

“Ha! Yeah, you see where I’m going with this _now,_ don’t ya? Would be a real shame if your identity was exposed, _Prince Kh-_ ”

“Doesn’t the SIS pay you? Work off your debts like a normal person.” 

Balthus laughed. “Don’t worry - just messing with you! I wouldn’t sell out a colleague, not even for a small fortune. Besides, Judith would _kill_ me.” 

“Yeah, I’m guessing that latter point is more important.” 

“... Maybe. She’s scary. I _am_ gonna need those credits, though. Surely, given you’re that you’re the heir to two different-” 

Claude groaned. “Okay, look, _here’s_ what we’re gonna do. The Hutts keep all their accounts firmly secure, but I know a guy who can be paid off for backdoor access. I’ll trade in a favor and get us in the room with him. From there, it’s a simple slice - and the bounty hunters are off your back, at least until you screw it all up again.” 

“You’re a real pal, Claude. I won’t forget it.” 

“Don’t thank me; I won’t be able to sleep at night with a liability like _that_ hanging around, ready to stab me in the back.” 

Balthus shrugged, not even having the decency to look ashamed of himself. “Whatever works!” 

* * *

Constance eventually cornered Edelgard under the pretense of demonstrating her skills with Force-created illusions. (Or, partially a pretense - she _was_ damn good and she _did_ love to show off said skills). 

And as much as she respected Yuri and enjoyed the work at SIS, she had to admit to an ulterior motive. Namely, if Edelgard actually _could_ restore House Nuvelle, that would certainly be preferable to her current, penniless situation. (Well - she supposed the SIS paid her a salary, but it would be a mere pittance compared to the wealth of her House!) 

Edelgard looked a little impressed at the display of a rainbow, but frowned when the conversation turned serious. “You must understand my present circumstances…” 

“Oh, I’m aware. The… unpleasantness, between the Houses that _were_ intact at that time. All the more reason for you to get in on the ground floor, as it were! My skill with the Force is unrivaled, and I could be a serious asset.” 

Edelgard gave her a challenging look. “Say I _was_ in a position to grant you that title - how would you ensure what befell your House did not happen again?” 

Challenge accepted! Constance had given much thought to this matter, obviously, and could answer fluently even while pretending she did not suspect the Sith influence on Adrestia’s Houses. “Nuvelle’s priorities were not what they should be. We stayed out of the internal strife within Adrestia, but in doing so we left ourselves with few allies. _When_ I lead our restored House, I will ensure we are much more open supporters of the throne.” 

Oh, Edelgard liked that answer; it was written on her face. “As I said, I am not currently in any position to do so… But when I _do_ take the throne, I intend to reward loyalty with loyalty. I will keep what you’ve said in mind, Constance.” 

Well, if she _was_ a Sith, that was a most un-Sith-like promise, Constance thought, once they’d exchanged formal farewells. It made one think… Truthfully, it might be better for the Galaxy if Edelgard was allowed to seize control.

She’d keep this little conversation to herself. The SIS had taken her in when she had nothing, and she was grateful, but still… House Nuvelle came first! 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Force Ghosts are a thing in the Star Wars universe, but Marianne is right - dead Jedi wouldn't normally manifest like THAT, or have any lingering regrets. Sounds fishy. (Don't worry, we'll get into it).
> 
> * I also have the Nabatean explanation all worked out, it will be resolved over the next few chapters. In this setting, it's WAAAY harder to hide the fact that you don't age over a thousand years, so Seteth doesn't see a reason to shut Byleth out completely.


	16. Month 3

Dimtri wasn’t sure what he was doing here - only that Knight Byleth had requested he come, and he wasn’t going to turn down Knight Byleth. The man’s tactical knowledge and skill in combat on the Sylvain rescue mission had been impressive… and a little scary. Plus, he’d been a very good teacher over these last couple of months. Dimitri was finally starting to feel some level of comfort with the unwieldy double-bladed saber he’d built.

Byleth sipped from his cup of tea and turned sightless eyes in Dimitri’s direction. “There are reports of you spending a lot of time in town. Usually, that indicates some problem - Sylvain, for example, though he’s been quiet lately.” 

Dimitri wasn’t the best at reading his friends’ intentions, despite their Force connection. But now that Byleth mentioned it... Sylvain _had_ been far less of a handful these last couple months. He was mostly sparring against Felix, rather than getting into trouble after their classes. 

“It’s nothing like that,” he assured the Knight. “There is an orphanage, and I am volunteering my time there.” Marianne’s idea, actually - she was such a good-hearted person - but Dimitri had taken to it with some enthusiasm. “Donations, as well, but the director assures me that they are well-funded. Their biggest issue is being under-staffed.” 

Byleth’s expression didn’t waver. “Are you sure that is a good idea?” 

“What? Ah - I apologize, sir - but how could it be a _bad_ idea? All of those children lost their families and homes. It’s my responsibility to help them - because I understand exactly how that feels.” 

“That’s what I mean. You are doing a good thing; there is no denying that. But _why_ are you doing it? Because of your personal, emotional connection to the idea of orphans. Because _you_ are an orphan.” 

Those sightless eyes were boring right through him. Dimitri dropped his gaze, as shameful as it was to look away. “I… I see.” 

“Please don’t misunderstand me. The Jedi Order at its core is about doing good. Protecting those who cannot protect themselves, defending our Republic… Still, you must remember the Code. There are _many_ ways to help this Galaxy, areas where you have less… personal involvement.” 

Dimitri’s hand trembled on his cup. “Am I… forbidden from volunteering there?” 

“No, of course not. I’m simply asking you to be mindful of your own feelings. Our history is littered with examples of Jedi whose intentions - pure and noble as they were - became twisted along the way, leading them down a dark path.” Byleth calmly stirred another sugar cube into his tea. “Our mysterious assailant wore the mask of one such example.”

Dimitri had a problem, and it was _much_ bigger than his growing attachment to the orphans. Part of him wanted to confess it all right now, baring his soul to the Knight. He’d probably be shackled with Force cuffs and thrown into a cell if he admitted his whole purpose in gaining power was to avenge the dead… but maybe the ghosts would fall silent. Maybe that was the one way to turn aside from the dark path Marianne saw for him. 

_“Don’t you dare,”_ Patricia whispered into his ear. Byleth kept drinking his tea, apparently noticing nothing even as the Force-ghosts manifested. More than anything, that made up Dimitri’s mind. Only he could see and hear them. Only he could bring them peace.

“I’ll consider what you’ve said, sir. It is very wise.” A polite smile. No hint of the turmoil raging within him. He was good at that; he could fool even someone as perceptive as Byleth. Only Felix ever saw through it, really. 

“Please do. I must be going, but I hope you enjoy the rest of your tea.” 

He didn’t. He couldn’t taste it; it might as well have been lukewarm water. “I do. Thank you very much for the invitation.” 

_“Good,”_ Glenn said, watching Byleth walk away. _“You need to be strong enough to avenge us. There’s only one way to do that. You’ve felt it before…”_

“The Dark Side,” Dimitri murmured. Yes, he remembered - when they’d been asked to put down that rebellion. The new Prince sent out at the head of the army, a demonstration that the Faerghus royal family still had control. The fight had been easy, the enemy Jedi poorly trained - still children, really, like himself and Felix had been. 

Somewhere along the way, he’d allowed his anger to the forefront. Allowed it to take over. After that… fighting had felt _good_. So much power, and it was so easily tapped into; one just had to give up on the Jedi’s instruction, allow their passion to flow freely.

Felix had never looked at him the same after that. But he’d lose Felix, and all the others, to walk this path, if that’s what he needed to do. The ones responsible for Duscur _certainly_ drew on the Dark Side themselves; he’d have to fight fire with fire to give them what they deserved: a slow and painful death.

 _“Exactly,”_ Lambert said, clear approval in his tone. _“Peace is a lie, Dimitri. There is only passion. Passion will give you strength, power… victory.”_

“I understand, Father…” 

He dumped out the rest of the tea, set the cup down hard enough to crack it, and stomped away from the little table.

* * *

It was obvious why Claude had proposed that first holo-chess game, and why he kept inviting her to another every few days: he’d grown suspicious, and wanted to get closer to the main object of his suspicions. Edelgard was good - but she wasn’t perfect, and she was playing with a stacked deck, considering Arundel plotted independently of her and didn’t care for what would blow her cover or not. It was natural that someone like Claude would be investigating. 

For her part, she still didn’t know who he was or what his real agenda was. _That_ in itself was a bright red flag. There was nobody who escaped from Hubert’s intelligence network - she had detailed agency dossiers on literally every person at Garreg Mach, _except_ for Claude. He might as well have been born a year ago, when he was named the heir to the Riegan Dukedom.

Hubert was pretty confident that ‘Claude’ wasn’t even his real name - that the intel was out there, but it would be associated with his actual birth name. Either way, someone with that level of secrecy to his background was obviously the biggest threat to their cover. He had to be neutralized, somehow, before he could uncover the truth and blab it to the other Jedi. 

So Edelgard kept playing him, for the same reason Claude was playing: she was hoping he’d let enough slip that they could act on it. 

“I _have_ been wondering why you were so quick to suspect the Sith,” she mused, in the middle of their latest game.

“Hey, I told you - nothing else made sense. Even Grandmaster Rhea admitted I was onto something after the second attack was at another Jedi site.” 

“Still, you were the first… It makes one wonder if, perhaps, _you_ are an agent of the Sith, establishing a veneer of credibility.”

That was nonsense, of course. Oh, Arundel had his people at Garreg Mach - but they were like Jeritza, people who followed orders. Claude Riegan was entirely too smart to be the kind of person her ‘uncle’ would put his faith into. 

Claude grinned, a hand over his heart. “Your accusations wound me, princess. I assure you - I may have my secrets, but being Sith isn’t one of them.” 

“Mmm, yes. Your forms _do_ demonstrate a complete lack of training - from either side. I suppose you were raised on a planet without any native Force traditions at all?” 

He took a long time with his next move, which was how Edelgard knew she’d scored a point. Eventually, he pushed a piece forward, shrugging as he did. “Big galaxy out there. Lots of planets without Force traditions.” 

“Oh, of course. I didn’t mean anything by it.” The fact that he was reluctant to mention his place of birth didn’t matter to her. Even if he was a human-passing alien from Almyra or Dagda, that would hardly be a problem - though, the way everyone _else_ in the Fodlan System tended to react to that might explain his silence…

“There’s a lot of advantages, actually. This whole System is crazy.”

Edelgard narrowed her eyes at him. Perhaps he truly was the outsider he seemed to be. “What do you mean by that?” 

“If you’d told me there are three planets, ruled by an inherited nobility that almost always has Force powers, and then asked me if they were Jedi or if they were Sith… the smart credits would be on the latter, wouldn’t they?” Claude smirked as he took one of her pieces. “The marriage between the nobility and the Jedi is… awkward, to say the least.”

“Mmm… I agree with you, actually. When I take the throne in Adrestia, I intend to end the second-class citizenship of the Force-Blind. There are many who deserve to advance on their own merit and not the circumstances of their birth.”

“That’s a noble goal. I could get behind that,” he said, though there wasn’t much passion in his voice. He was careful, as always, not to reveal too much.

“Your perspective is interesting, though. Most of the students here were born into the System and simply accept things the way that they are,” she said. 

“Yeah, being an outsider has its advantages. Maybe that’s why I’m the only one who seems to want to talk to this Revanite guy, instead of cutting him down on the spot.” 

Edelgard lifted an eyebrow. “Oh, yes?” 

Claude flashed her an easy grin. “Yeah - don’t you remember what I said that night? There’s clearly two different agendas at play here. The attacks and sabotage out in the Core Worlds haven’t let up. Out here, though… two attacks, and then two months of peace? Whoever the Revanite is, _he’s_ taking things slow. Very different from his buddies.” 

“You’re very well-informed. The Republic still hadn’t made the extent of the damage public knowledge - there’s very little on the HoloNet.” 

“What can I say? I have a lot of friends, friends who let things slip occasionally.” He shrugged. “Besides, _you’re_ not focusing on the interesting part.” 

Edelgard shook her head. “I’m not sure. Maybe the reason it’s been quiet is because he fled after his attack failed.” 

“It’s a possibility. But c’mon, your Force intuition has gotta be telling you the same thing that mine is. Rhea, Seteth, and the others are all still on edge, still expecting the next attack. _They_ don’t think this is over.” 

“So what’s your plan? Walk up to him and ask him very nicely to explain his motivations?” 

“ _Definitely_ not. I’m just gonna let it slip that if he wants to talk first and swing sabers second, Leicester’s next Duke is the one to talk to. If my theory about two Sith factions is correct, it could be advantageous for everyone.” 

_Let it slip_ , huh? By telling the one he actually suspected, he meant. Edelgard had to admire his nerve, even if it was a useless gesture. Nothing about the last two months had convinced her that Claude could actually be trusted. Most likely, this was all his latest gambit to draw her out - and turn her over to the Jedi. 

“Good luck with that,” she said, pushing her last piece into position. “And checkmate.” 

* * *

“You still have not told the Jedi against me.”

It was an observation, but Jeritza phrased it as a question. He’d once again snuck away to meet with Mercedes in secret. Every time, he braced himself for the Knights to be waiting to kill or capture him; every time, it was simply his sister, waiting patiently - and alone.

“You’ve suffered many betrayals in your life, haven’t you? The Sith must put no value on loyalty, if you expect a knife in the back from your own sister.”

Jertiza laughed, with no humor in it. “The Sith expect you to cut away all of your weaknesses. If you and Mother had remained in House Bartels, my orders would have been to kill you, as well. And I would have done it.”

“Maybe you would have.”

“There’s no _maybe_ , Mercedes. I let _him_ do the killing, but I made the choice to go there and let him out. It was their final test for me. I passed.” 

“Have you considered allowing Jedi mind-healers to…?” 

“No. Never. They’d see why I’m really here, and Arundel would have you killed.” 

Mercedes pursed her lips. “What about this one you call the Revanite? You seem to think they’ll protect you - and me.”

He shook his head. “They are yet Arundel’s apprentice. For now, they cannot defy him so openly. And the Darth grows impatient. I sense that he will order me to do something drastic soon - and to maintain my cover, the Revanite will order me to obey. That is why you ought to turn me over to the Jedi. You’ll be saving lives…” 

“I won’t. I didn’t find you, after all these years, just to lose you again,” she said firmly. “If you let _him_ attack us, I will do everything in my power to heal the damage.”

“And if you face him during the battle?”

“I… don’t know,” his sister admitted. 

“You would do better to cast me out of your mind. Divided loyalties will only hurt you in the end,” Jeritza said. “Soon, you’ll need to choose. Your Prince, your planet, the Jedi on the one hand - and on the other - nothing but death.” 

“I don’t believe in that false binary. We’ll find another way.” 

He didn’t bother to keep arguing, stewing in silence. As far as he was concerned, there _was_ no other way. It would take all of his effort to curb that bloodthirsty alter ego and avoid Mercedes on the battlefield; he’d have no other energy for _thinking_ his way out of this. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Another 3 update week (M/W/F) because I have gotten so far ahead on this, lol 
> 
> * If you didn't play KOTOR, you just need to know that Revan started as Jedi Knight and went to war against a Mandalorian invasion when the Jedi Council refused to act. Along the way he/she fell to the dark side despite the intention of protecting people when he/she started fighting back. Byleth sees it as a cautionary tale for Dimitri here; basically "the road to hell is paved with good intentions." 
> 
> * Lambert is partially reciting the Sith Code here. Wonder what that's about?


	17. Month 4

All of them knew that Darth Arundel was not a patient man. When the next set of orders arrived, none of them were surprised, but Hubert allowed himself one of his better scowls. It was also cathartic to explain what a bad idea it was, even if they already knew it.

“He is burning _several_ years’ worth of work in establishing Knight Hrym’s cover-story here, and for what? A suicide mission. Assassinating Rhea is simply not possible. She’s far too powerful and _very_ well-protected.” 

“ _He_ could kill her,” Jeritza said, drawing everyone’s eyes. This was just the latest cryptic, ominous reference to the spirit of the killer he could activate at will. 

Hubert didn’t understand any of that Force business - but Edelgard had explained it once. Jeritza wasn’t really possessed - the Jedi would have noticed that - but the trauma of his Sith training had almost broken his mind. To survive, he’d let all of his Dark Side impulses more or less become their own personality: an indiscriminate killer who could be pointed in the right direction and unleashed on Jeritza’s enemies. 

“It’s very possible that _he_ could, but the collateral damage would be immense, and I’d lose a very valuable ally. I wish to avoid both of those things,” Edelgard said, frowning.

“Then I will fail, be captured, and expose everything. Even I won’t be able to keep a determined Jedi mental expert out of my head.” 

“Arundel knows that. This is a double gambit on his part… either unleash the Death Knight-” Ah, so Edelgard _had_ named it; she tended to enjoy the little dramatic touches- “allow him to slaughter these children, and prove myself a hypocrite for wanting to fight this war with honor; or let you fail - and bring all my plans to ruin.” 

“Surely there must be some way out of this bind!” Ferdinand said. Hubert wanted to stab him; that forced cheery tone would give him a migraine if it continued. 

“W-we could help him,” Bernadetta said, then gasped and immediately backtracked: “N-not that I’m volunteering! Grandmaster Rhea is _so_ scary!” 

“No matter what we do, this plan is unlikely to succeed,” Hubert pointed out. “Arundel does not expect us to, either.” 

Edelgard clapped her hands together. “Then we’ll do something that a coward like him would never dream of. We will fight alongside Jeritza instead of simply sending him to die.”

“Oh _no_.” Bernadetta looked wobbly on her feet. 

“Don’t fear,” Ferdinand told her. “I believe we will simply be a distraction! After all, that is what _I_ would do, and great minds think alike!” 

Edelgard let the bait slide, but nodded. “We’ll get Linhardt and Caspar to rig some explosives on the outer edge of the Enclave grounds. When everyone rushes to investigate, we’ll hold them there as long as we can. Jeritza will take his best shot at the Grandmaster. If you succeed, so much the better; if you are outmatched, make your escape, and return to Arundel.” 

Hubert stroked his chin. “Hmm, yes… That could work. After all, you would not be lying if you told him you wished to avoid being taken alive… There’s little reason for him to suspect that Lord Edelgard arranged it.” 

“And if I succeed?” 

“Without Rhea, this Enclave cannot survive long. Your subsequent capture would be immaterial. Arundel would attack before they pry the truth from your mind.” 

Either way, Edelgard held a winning hand. Actually, Jeritza _failing_ might be preferable; it would mean another few months of _not_ having to cut down her fellow padawns, including her own step-brother. And Claude - even though he was her enemy, it had been… enjoyable, matching wits against him. 

-No. That was a sentimental weakness. Arundel’s attack on this place was inevitable. It was only a matter of time before they were all killed, or worse - captured, becoming his latest toys to break and mold into more Sith. 

She wouldn’t let anyone suffer as she’d suffered, if she could avoid it. When that day came, death would be a mercy. 

* * *

“The Republic garrison is going to have munition experts. You’ll need to make sure there’s not a trace of anything Mandalorian remaining,” Linhardt cautioned.

“I know!” Caspar complained, fiddling with the final pieces on the explosives array. “I built all of this out of Republic military tech, actually. Bought it secondhand when Raphael and I took that trip over to Nar Shaddaa.” 

“Ooh… so they’ll suspect their own garrison of being involved. Good thinking. I didn’t think you had it in you.” 

“Told ya, I’m not as dumb as you think I am.” He stepped back to admire his handiwork, then sighed. “Ugh, guess we better _get to cover_ or whatever she ordered us to do. I wanna fight the Jedi, too!” 

“You _know_ why we can’t. The Clan is openly here to protect Princess Edelgard; it would blow her cover wide open if we fought alongside ‘the Revanites.’” Linhardt delivered this last with ostentatious air quotes. 

“Yeah, yeah. Hey, if Jeritza actually takes out the Grandmaster, we get to fight, though, right?” 

“Didn’t you pay attention to the - nevermind, I know you didn’t. Yes, Clan Leader is standing by in case we need to go and extract them.” 

Caspar chuckled, rubbing his armored hands together as they retreated into the forest. “Hope he kills her, then!”

“I hope he _doesn’t_. Now set that thing off so I can get some rest,” Linhardt mumbled, settling down with his back against a tree. Once the explosion finished ringing in his ears, he might be able to catch a quick nap.

* * *

Their “attack” was augmented by another crop of Dagdan battle-droids - nothing the padawans couldn’t handle. The three Sith destroyed about a dozen of them with lightsaber cuts. They’d let themselves be discovered, surrounded by the broken droids, afterwards. It was the next best thing to being in two places at once.

When the explosion rocked the Enclave grounds, Edelgard started a countdown in their masks’ HUD. Five minutes. Jeritza would either cut Rhea down at speed, or he’d be beyond their aid, and either way, they would need to retreat and shed their disguises. 

Dimitri was the first on the scene. He must have been awake - taking a walk on the Enclave grounds, perhaps. But the weariness in his expression shifted into a murderous scowl when he saw the three masks. 

“You… you masked demons! I _knew_ it was all connected!” He activated both sides of his weapon, the blue blades crackling - intentionally or not, he was almost overloading the lightsaber with the force of his emotions. 

_The Tragedy? What else could it be. Arundel’s killers must have worn masks to avoid being identified. Not_ Revanite _masks, surely. Is he too far gone to see the difference?_

Dimitri crossed ten feet in a single jump, whirling his lightsaber and smashing through a couple of the droids. He wasn’t even using any form she could recognize. There was nothing but pure instinct and rage.

Ferdinand’s saber, temporarily red once more, snapped to life and caught one of the blue blades. Dimitri snarled and whirled on him. Edelgard wasn’t worried. He was stronger than Ferdinand, but in his current state, the skilled duelist would have a significant upper-hand. 

Many more of the students trickled onto the scene, none as prepared for a fight as Dimitri. Bernadetta kept them at bay by extending both hands. Lightning forked wildly in all directions, her power raw and uncontrolled. More than one of their own droids went down in a smoking heap, but the attack had its intended effect, keeping the padawans back.

Except for one. Claude, with a half-smile on his face and the yellow saber in his hand. He pushed one of lightning strikes away with a casual flick of his wrist.

Edelgard snapped her weapon to life and gestured at him, an imperious motion. Claude’s expression shifted to a smirk - and he took her challenge, opening by throwing his saber. It spun in a deadly arc, snapping back to his hand once she’d ducked away. 

She directed their duel away from the scene; it would be easier to disappear into the forest once she’d won. She didn’t hold anything back. Conflicted though she might be, she _was_ Sith. If Claude was weak enough to lose, he’d deserve to die. 

But it never came close to that. Claude, like Dimitri, wasn’t using a traditional form, but unlike Dimitri, he wasn’t giving into his rage. Every action was calculated, and the fact that his style was so unconventional just meant that it was harder for her to gain the edge on him. 

“I want to talk,” Claude said, and even though he _was_ talking, his defense didn’t waver for an instant.

“You have sixty seconds,” she said. She was confident in the way the mask scrambled her voice, and in her own alterations to her Force signature. He had no way of knowing she was Edelgard. 

“Straight to the point, then.” He grinned, even as he narrowly ducked under a slash that would have cut his head from his shoulders. Despite the danger - or perhaps because of it - his eyes were shining with excitement. “You Revanites, you’re a different faction from the rest of the Sith. And I think you chose that symbol for a reason. You’re signalling a… difference of opinion.” 

Claude’s return strike forced her to jump back a foot, but she spoke without missing a beat. “I will crush both the Sith pretenders _and_ the Jedi hypocrites. The Galaxy will be better off without them.” 

“Under your benevolent rule, I’m guessing?”

“For a time. Until they’ve learned to stand on their own two feet again. Until the Galaxy rewards those with the most merit, instead of those who happen to be born Force-Sensitive.” 

“Sounds pretty good, honestly.” Claude lifted his left hand, and a rock tore up from the ground and flung itself at her head. She didn’t move, cutting it in half in a single slash. “I guess that’s the natural extension of the Sith philosophy when you divorce it from the Dark Side. Gaining enough power to break one’s chains.” 

Edelgard was surprised he’d even read the Sith Code - though she shouldn’t be. Everything she knew about Claude told her he wouldn’t care about Jedi prohibitions, that he’d read everything he could get his hands on if it might give him insight into his enemy. 

“It’s that interim stage I have a bit of an issue with. Absolute rule corrupts… and the people of the Galaxy are stronger than you think. They don’t need you to shepherd them. Tear it all down, and let them figure it out for themselves.” 

Claude blocked her saber with his; they both stood, inches apart, refusing to back down from the locked weapons. 

“You’re speaking of chaos.” 

“Is that so bad? You Sith exploit it; the Jedi fear it. But to most of us, that’s just how it is.”

She didn’t have time to get sidetracked by a philosophical debate - the minute was up. She’d chosen this spot with care, cutting through most of a thick tree’s trunk ahead of time. Now it only needed a small push to topple to the ground - and directly onto Claude.

His eyes widened. It was too late to move, so he threw up both hands. With a grunt of effort, he managed to stop the tree from squashing him, but by the time he looked back up, she’d disappeared. 

* * *

When the bomb went off, Byleth woke at once, and was on his feet an instant later. Force-enhanced instinct warned him against running off to investigate, even as he felt all of the students doing so. There was something else at play here. A terrible danger, swiftly approaching.

He met Seteth and Flayn in the hallway outside of Rhea’s personal quarters. His old Master couldn’t hide his worry. “Ah - you felt it too?” 

“Yes… I sense a threat, directed at the Grandmaster. But the students...” 

“I’ve already ordered Knight-Captain Charon and the teachers to bring them back.” Of course - Seteth thought of everything. 

They weren’t kept waiting for long. Byleth ‘saw’ the dark presence at the same time that he felt it. His Miraluka vision showed him general outlines, colored in with the person’s emotional state and Force affinity - and this one was moving straight towards them, with the clear intention to kill written in his aura. 

“Stay back!” he ordered, lifting his saber into a defensive posture. 

From the first strike, he knew that he was once again fighting the tall Revanite who’d attacked them at the saber forge. But the man’s aura was completely different. Back at the forge, it had been red with rage, the color he’d expect from a Sith. _This_ figure was nothing but black, the color of death. 

The Revanite fought differently, too. He now had a double-bladed saber instead of a single blade, and his attacks were both brutal and reckless. He left himself open for several counters, but didn’t appear to even feel the pain as Byleth’s saber stabbed him again and again. If anything, it was just making him stronger, like a berserker out of the old tales. 

When one side of a duel was willing to fight like _that_ , the one who wished to live was in trouble. Byleth was forced back step by step, until the attacker had a clear shot at Rhea’s chambers. He threw Byleth out of the way and lifted his weapon - 

“Get down!” was all the warning Seteth had time to give him; luckily, Byleth obeyed on instinct. His old Master and Flayn attacked together, twin bursts of pure kinetic Force smashing through the entire corridor. Byleth had seen Seteth fight, but never seriously, never like this. His power was truly formidable, and Flayn seemed just as strong.

The Revanite, in his crazed state, didn’t even try to dodge. He was lifted off his feet and thrown bodily through the opposite wall, smashing straight through it and falling to the Enclave grounds below. His mask, ripped from his face, clattered to the ground.

Flayn gasped, covering her mouth with both hands. “Father, did you…” 

“Yes.” Seteth’s own voice was grim. “I saw his face. That was Jeritza.” 

Byleth got to his feet, somewhat unsteadily, his mind churning. The Sith had penetrated much more deeply into this Enclave than they’d ever suspected. To hide one of their own among the Knights for _years_ , only activating him now in this attempt to kill Rhea… How deeply had they penetrated the ranks of the Jedi? Where would the next blow fall? 

“This is _not_ good,” was all he said. 

“Indeed.” Seteth let the one word speak volumes. 

Flayn peered through the large hole in the wall. “He survived the fall… but, ah, he is retreating. I suppose the attack is over, for now.” 

They were fortunate that it had failed - though the enemy’s secondary objective was a complete success. If _Jeritza_ could be Sith, any of them could be Sith. The Knights would be scrambling to confirm that their own comrades weren’t secret traitors, at the very moment when they should be their most unified. 

And Rhea… Byleth was still confident that she was hiding _something_ from him. He should be able to trust the Jedi Enclave Grandmaster implicitly - he shouldn’t be wary of her, suspicious of her true agenda. 

He feared this entire Enclave was teetering on the edge of ruin. That one strong enough push from the Sith would topple it completely. And unless his instincts were completely mistaken… that push was well on its way. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * I'm really going away from canon now. A lot of the plans that made sense for Those Who Slither in the Dark don't check out for Those Who Sith in the Dark. That's fine though, it's probably more interesting this way. 
> 
> * I don't want to make light of the mental illness coding in 3H, but both Jeritza and Dimitri's conditions will function a lot differently here. As you can see Jeritza has a lot more control over becoming the Death Knight. I'm really not qualified to write anything close to accurate for his in-game condition so hopefully we can just roll with it being completely different here.


	18. Month 5

When Claude showed up for their next pazaak game, he found only Yuri seated at the table. The leader of the Ashen Wolves cell was quite the puzzle. He was one of the best spies Claude had ever worked with - he should be leading his own operations, in all honesty. But that would mean leaving the other three behind, and Claude had gathered that, for whatever reason, that would be unacceptable to Yuri. 

So he remained a cell leader, stayed with his friends, and deferred to Claude at almost every opportunity. But Claude had the distinct feeling _that_ was about to change.

“Should we play first?” Yuri asked, shuffling the cards with smooth, practiced motions. 

“And exchanged barbed words over each hand? As enjoyable as that would be - it’s late, and I hope these last few months have shown we don’t need to hide how we really feel from one another.” 

“But we _are_ lying to each other, every minute… Very well, though. We’ll play it your way.” The other spy dealt two hands, just for the sake of appearances, then leaned back in his chair, regarding Claude with narrowed eyes.

“Let me guess. Edelgard.” 

“The very same. All of our other courses of action have dried up. I’m _sure_ the Sith tampered with that Lystheia girl, but I can’t prove a thing. Count Gloucester is ambitious, but clearly no Sith. Faerghus is rotten to its core, the Prince is going to lose his mind - but what can we do about it? Meanwhile, we _know_ Adrestia is going to instigate the conflict…” 

“Nothing we can prove in a court of law, but the Company doesn’t have a problem doing end-runs.” They employed more than enough assassins. Claude knew Yuri himself had at _least_ a half-dozen kills under his belt. 

“Right. So why is the Imperial Princess still alive?” 

It was a fair accusation. Claude should have seen it coming. He was too young to have really experienced it first-hand, but anyone who’d done a bit of espionage knew the risks of getting too close to a subject. Letting your personal feelings get involved. 

“Yuri… If I truly thought assassinating Edelgard was the best way to minimize the damage to this System, I’d drive a knife into her back myself.”

The two Force-users locked eyes. Claude didn’t open his mind, exactly - he wouldn’t do that for _anyone_ \- but he let Yuri sense the truth in his conviction. Eventually, Yuri smirked and gave him a slight nod.

“I believe you. Just had to ask... You wouldn’t be the first to go native.” He picked up one of the chips and moved it idly through his fingers. “So why haven’t you?” 

“We always knew there was more than one Sith. Now that I know her better, here’s what I’m thinking: the top Sith is her master. Her contempt for the group that’s attacking the Core Worlds is pretty obvious, and she tries to play it the way a Jedi would, but that’s not right. It’s _personal_ disgust.” 

“The Garreg Mach attacks haven’t really felt the same,” Yuri agreed. “More subtle. More targeted. The bombs… the Jedi think they were a ploy to pull guards away from Rhea, but they _also_ pulled students out of harm’s way.” 

Claude nodded. “Reading between the lines of our little chats… She says that she hates the way this System picks its rulers based on their strength in the Force. I think she’s being genuine. Ironically, that would condemn the entire way the Sith do things.”

“The Revan symbolism…” 

“She’s trying to tell us something without saying it outright. That if she were in charge of the Sith, things would be different.” 

Yuri considered this, tilting his head. “Yet we’d still have Sith.” 

“Don’t mistake me - I don’t want _any_ group conquering the Galaxy. But… knowing our enemy has at least two different factions… Well, why not encourage division in their ranks?” 

“That’s been what did them in, historically speaking,” the other spy agreed. 

“We both know that the outlook for a war isn’t good. Even the combined might of the Core Worlds would have a hard time challenging Adrestia’s military, and the Senate won’t intervene in an ‘internal System dispute’ until they absolutely have to. We need every edge that we can get,” Claude said. 

“True enough. So… exactly how much covert support are we going to lend her?” 

He hadn’t expected Yuri to agree so readily - but then again, the other man always did have a good eye for the bottom line. “I honestly don’t think she _needs_ much help. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s ready to turn on her master at a moment’s notice. But we could always let Constance become our woman on the inside.”

Yuri smirked. “Ah, you noticed that, did you?”

“She’s not been very subtle about how eager she is to join forces with Edelgard, in exchange for the restoration of her House. Just tell me: can we trust her?” 

“She doesn’t give a damn about the SIS - or you, no offense,” Yuri said. “But she’d never betray me or the other Wolves. If I asked her to keep reporting to me - me, personally, no Company involvement - I’m sure she would.” 

“I’ll take it. As long as the two of us keep sharing what we know…” 

The other spy shrugged. “We will. I don’t trust the Company, either. I trust people. Judith is decent enough, and you’re sincere enough.”

Claude grinned, reaching for his cards. Now that they’d sorted that all out, they might as well play. “Oh, stop it. You’ll make me blush.” 

* * *

Sylvain didn’t know why Felix was so insistent they get their hands on security footage from the attack last month, but it was a simple enough request. Rhea had forbidden any of the students from reviewing it, but there was always the human element. He flirted with the Republic soldier in charge of the video feed, stealing her away for a date and allowing Felix and Ingrid to break into the security center. 

When they regrouped in Felix’s room that night, as arranged, he noticed that both his friends were on edge. Felix was _pissed_ , the bond suffused with it; Ingrid just looked scared.

“Damn, what’d I miss?” 

“You’re late,” Ingrid said. Glaring and getting angry at him seemed to distract her from the fear, which Sylvain supposed was good? “I knew you’d get carried away.”

“Hey, I figured you two might need the extra time. Don’t worry - I didn’t touch her.” Just stupid flirting. He wasn’t going to do that to Felix, even if Felix was too dense to realize his own feelings. 

Felix ignored their bickering and shoved his datapad at Sylvain. It was playing the security camera feed, all right. He watched as the battle droids lumbered into the camera’s field of view, followed by their three masked masters.

“What am I looking for, here?” 

“Just shut up and watch,” Felix commanded. Ingrid didn’t say _anything_ , which made him even more nervous. She always had something to say (usually a reprimand). 

Dimitri was the first one on the scene - he’d known that. What he hadn’t realized was how quickly their prince had abandoned any semblance of a saber form and thrown himself at those droids, fighting like a wild beast. One of the masked Sith dueled him for a few tense minutes; then both of them, no doubt by pre-arranged signal, activated flash grenades and fled the scene in the resulting blind chaos.

Dimitri turned towards the camera, face still twisted in rage. His eyes were very clearly no longer blue, but the sick yellow of Dark Side corruption. He opened his mouth to yell in frustration - and the Force of that yell smashed the camera, cutting out the feed.

They were both looking at Sylvain expectantly. 

“Damn. I’m surprised Felix kept his ‘I told you so’s inside long enough to let me watch without spoilers! Masterful work, buddy.” 

Felix snatched the datapad back from him, and Ingrid scowled. “This _isn’t_ funny, Sylvain!” 

“What the hell do you want _us_ to do about it? Go to the Jedi so they can lock him up? Have him declared incompetent to rule and drag him back home in Force-cuffs? Either course will destroy him politically. You both know Faerghus couldn’t survive that.” 

The nobility had always been selfish and stupid - but after Duscur, it was even worse. And if the court was packed with Dimitri’s enemies… he wouldn’t be safe there. Nor would they hesitate to take advantage of the prince’s weakness to undercut the royal family’s power. A puppet monarch, forced to cede real control of the planet to those who had killed his father… Dimitri would go mad, or get himself killed. 

“We can’t just do _nothing_ ,” Ingrid insisted.

“You’re both right,” Felix said. His fingers tapped restlessly on the hilts of his sabers. “At least he’s at least saving it for the enemy… for now. But if - _when_ \- the Rancor turns on innocent people, I need to know you’ll both do what needs to be done.” 

“He’s the _prince_.” Ingrid, scandalized.

“He could take down all three of us at once.” Sylvain, practical. 

“If we’re letting a beast like him roam free, putting him down before he kills innocents is our duty. I don’t intend to lose. I suggest you both prepare yourselves,” Felix said grimly. 

“Damn. I should’ve known this was just an excuse to get us to spar you more often.” 

Neither of them laughed - but hey, at least when they were glaring at Sylvain, they weren’t wallowing in their misery. He could work with that. 

* * *

Dimitri wasn’t sleeping. It was taking its toll on him during the day - the Knight-instructors noticed that he could barely pay attention in class. But this Enclave, their weak Jedi training, no longer mattered to him. 

And he’d rather sneak out at night and train alone than face the alternative. The nightmares. They’d always haunted his dreams, but it was particularly bad lately - he couldn’t close his eyes without replaying Duscur in his mind. The screams, the blood, watching his father and stepmother and Glenn die, over and over…

The only thing he regretted was no longer having time for Marianne. But- 

_“It’s better this way,”_ Patricia told him.

-But it was better this way. Hadn’t she warned him away from her, the very first time they’d met? Now he was doing the same. Refusing to take her down with him.

He’d do this alone. Even Felix, Ingrid, and Sylvain were no longer his friends, not really. They whispered behind his back, plotting when best to turn against him and betray him. They thought he didn’t realize… but he did, all too well. 

Only Dedue stayed loyal. Dedue accompanied him on each of these midnight sessions, despite his total ignorance of Force matters. When Dimitri tried to turn him away, he’d followed, anyway, insisting that he could protect Dimitri from any physical threat. 

Dedue was with him tonight, too, walking a patrol around the forest clearing. He didn’t interfere as Dimitri communed with the ghosts. He couldn’t see them, anyway; nor sense the dark aura that surrounded Dimitri. But even if he _had_ been able, he wouldn’t have said anything about it. He’d actually trust Dimitri. He was _actually_ loyal, unlike those three- 

_“Loyalty is weakness_ , _”_ Glenn warned him. _“You can’t really trust_ anyone _. Even him.”_

 _“True power comes when you’re alone,”_ Lambert agreed. _“The Sith knew this. They would cut away their last remaining weakness to complete their training.”_

Dimitri blinked at the ghosts, horror twisting through his gut. “You mean…” 

_“Yes. When that day comes, you’ll need to kill him,”_ Patricia said. _“Only then will you be powerful enough to get your revenge.”_

“I… I can’t do that! You ask too much of me.” 

_“Ask too much?”_ Lambert growled. _“Why else are you still alive, if not to avenge us? Are you too weak to do what must be done!?”_

 _“I died for you,”_ Glenn whispered into his ear. _“Don’t make me regret it.”_

“Enough!” he roared, screwing his eyes shut. The trees around him rocked back and forth, the Force emanating out from him in waves - 

-Dedue’s hands on his shoulders. He’d been strong enough to push through the Force-waves and make it to Dimitri’s side. 

“Your Highness. Please calm down. I’m here.” 

“Yes,” he whispered. Dedue was still here for him. He wouldn’t, _couldn’t,_ go as far as they suggested. He could use the Dark Side to gain power… but he wouldn’t lose himself in it. He was better than that. 

The ghosts, for the moment, were silent. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're getting close now! There are 2 chapters left before the timeskip. The next one will piece together some of the setting-specific backstory/lore and after that... the Sith make their move.


	19. Month 6, Day 14

**???**

Once they were alone, Thales sighed in relief and shed the Force-illusion of Arundel. He kept it going for so long, these days, that it was almost second nature. But there was no need for such things here - the underground meeting-chamber of the Dark Council. 

The planet above had lost any ability to support life long ago, broken and destroyed during the First War. It was the last place his enemies would think to look for him - making it the perfect place to convene his top lieutenants. 

They were all younger than him. They didn’t remember the War. Even Solon, who was so obviously aging and closer to death than the rest of them, was a child compared to Thales. That ritual he’d conducted over a thousand years ago certainly had its advantages. Even _he_ didn’t know when his effective immortality would begin to wane. 

They didn’t remember. But they knew what he’d done, felt his power in the Force. He’d done what no Sith had been able to do for millenia - he’d effectively cowed his apprentices, ensuring they were actually loyal to him. 

Even Edelgard, the proud little princess, had acquiesced in the end. He’d insisted her pet ‘Death Knight’ join him here after the assassination failed, and she hadn’t fought him on it. The man stood guard outside the council room, obedient as an akk-dog.

“Progress report,” he commanded. 

Cornelia went first. Even Thales himself didn’t think of her true name at this point - she’d taken to the guise without interruption for over a decade, and preferred to wear it to her true shape, even here. It was the risk one took with a deep-cover mission - but he’d thought she could handle it. She was weaker than he’d anticipated. 

“The little prince is exactly where we want him to be: teetering on the edge, ready to Fall. He grows isolated from all his friends, leaning ever-more on that Duscurian servant.” 

“Excellent. How do we give the final push?” 

“Show him exactly how weak he is compared to a true Sith. He’ll do anything to avenge his precious family. If I might make a suggestion… seek him out personally when the Enclave falls.” Her lips twisted into a sneer, eyes shining.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were setting him up to kill me.” 

“You wound me, my lord; I would _never_.” 

Thales trusted her the least of all his servants; she’d gone _native_ , disgusting as it was, and was too eager to seize control of Faerghus, as if a backwater planet like that actually _mattered_. On the other hand, she wasn’t foolish enough to think that child could _actually_ defeat him in combat, so there’d be little profit in this if she meant to betray him. She knew - they all knew - that he was much stronger in the Force than they could ever hope to be. 

“We shall see,” he eventually said. Cornelia recognized it as the dismissal it was, bowing low before resuming her seat. 

Solon spoke next. “As far as I know, my disguise is completely intact. The real Tomas spent much of his time in the Archives and had few friends, so it has been a simple matter to stay isolated.” 

“And have you learned anything of value?” 

“Your compulsion on the Ordelia girl remains intact. It was masterful work, if you’ll permit me. None of the Jedi mind-healers suspect a thing.”

Thales let himself enjoy the flattery for a moment. If Cornelia was his least-trusted lieutenant, Solon was his most valuable apprentice. He was a true believer, willing to sacrifice anything if it meant destroying their most ancient enemy. 

“And the Nabateans?” 

“Nothing has changed. Three of them at the Enclave, including the Grandmaster; but no hint of the other two. Our assumption that Cichol knew where his brothers are hiding may not be accurate. Perhaps they all hid on separate planets.” 

“It would have been wise. Cowardly, but wise.” Nothing frustrated Thales more than the fact that a few of the hated aliens had survived his ritual. Cichol, Macuil, and Indech had all been off-world; and Seiros had somehow survived, managing to escape before his apprentices found her. 

Four Nabateans weren’t many - but it had been enough to set his plans back by a millennium, because against all odds, they’d brought the humans into the war. Adrestia had been a planet of primitives, but Seiros granted them technology that was centuries ahead of their capabilities. Adrestia’s warriors adapted quickly, attacking the Agarthans in force within a few years. A humiliating defeat that left Thales, in turn, one of just a handful of survivors. 

Now Seiros openly ruled the System from her Jedi Enclave, indoctrinating every new generation of those accursed humans in her teachings. Thales licked his wounds and built up his power in the shadows. It had been so long, so painful… but finally, victory was at hand. Adrestia had been her pawn to destroy him; it was only fitting that Adrestia now serve as _his_ weapon, and turn against its creator. 

“It is time,” he decided. “Our forces are ready, and delay only gives them more time to stumble upon the truth. Return to your guises - and make your final preparations. I will personally lead the attack on Garreg Mach, and finally slay the accursed Seiros.”

There was nothing quite like the rush of one’s apprentices all bowing in tandem before rushing out to carry out one’s orders. Thales allowed himself a satisfied smirk. 

A thousand years of careful planning - finally, it was time for the blade to fall. 

* * *

**Garreg Mach**

Byleth wasn’t a seer, but even he could tell that the Enclave’s doom was at hand. The Force-premonition of danger lay everything, like some sort of thick fog that had rolled in and was slowly poisoning them all. The more sensitive students - like Marianne, who _was_ a seer - barely paid attention during the lectures, and he couldn’t blame them; _he_ was barely focused on what he was saying. 

Rhea hadn’t been seen in public since the failed assassination. It was no way to run an Enclave - they needed the Grandmaster’s guidance now, more than ever, but still she hid herself away. Eventually, Byleth swallowed his own reluctance and made up his mind: if Master Seteth couldn’t snap her out of her funk, maybe _he_ could. 

She wasn’t concealing her presence; she was in the second basement level of the Enclave, a vast and seemingly empty room that Byleth had only been through once before. He walked quickly into it, immediately realizing something was different. Perhaps there had been a false wall before, and it had certainly been lined with Force-dampening cortosis, because he would have sensed the secret room otherwise… 

He approached Rhea slowly, almost unable to believe what his own senses were telling him. The center of the room contained a body in a tank, floating in suspended animation. It seemed to be a simple kolto tank for healing wounds, but there was certainly more to it, because the person inside was very much no longer alive. And… 

“That individual feels exactly like my mother did when she lived. Grandmaster, what _exactly_ is going on here?” 

She wasn’t surprised to see him. Worse: she was _happy_ to see him. She stood and spread her arms as if she would embrace him (he stepped back immediately). 

Undeterred, she spoke, her voice sing-song. She was altogether… unstable. “That is my mother, Sothis. The Nabateans looked on her as our progenitor goddess. She taught us all how to wield the Force, a very long time ago…” 

Byleth filed that away to ask Seteth about later - he had more pressing questions. “You speak of her as though she’s… still alive,” he said, as delicately as he could manage.

“She has… left us, temporarily,” Rhea said. “But one day, she’ll return to me. In the meantime, I ensure that vessels stand ready to receive her.” 

“Clones. You’re talking about clones.” Byleth’s stomach lurched. Cloning was absolutely forbidden, one of the most illegal things someone could do in the Galaxy, but more importantly... “And my mother was one of them.”

“I can feel what you’re thinking… Sitri was as dear to me as if she was my own daughter. I know she was her own person, and not Sothis. I’m not a monster, Byleth. I’ve allowed each clone to live a full and happy life, and your mother was no exception. Have I not been patient? She was only my twelfth attempt in over a thousand years!”

 _Allowed to live a full life… as if they’re cattle raised for slaughter_ , he thought, in the deepest part of his mind where Rhea could not hear him. “Am I your only… grandchild, then?” 

“Yes,” Rhea said. “The others… each one was infertile. Sitri was not the first to marry, but she _was_ the first to have a child. The clones are becoming more and more perfect. The next might very well be the perfect vessel that my mother requires.” 

It was simply too much. He pushed it all away to think about it later. “Grandmaster. I see now why you don’t wish to leave the Enclave, despite the doom we all feel approaching. But I came to implore you: we should evacuate-” 

“I will never leave this place,” she said. On the surface, she was calm, but the words teetered on the edge of a cliff, a steep dive down into insanity if she was pushed any farther. 

They could certainly _move_ the tank with the corpse of Sothis in it - but Byleth could tell this went deeper than the logistics. He bowed, made his excuses, and walked - fled - out of the basement, his mind racing.

His feet found their way to Seteth’s office once more; again, he entered without knocking. Seteth had been expecting him, evidently, since Flayn set down a fresh cup of Byleth’s favorite tea even as Seteth steered him into a chair. 

“I assume Rhea showed you… her project.” Seteth’s aura twitched with his disapproval. 

“How long have you known, Master?” 

“Not long - I swear it on the Force, Byleth. Your mother passed away long before Flayn and I returned to this place, and Rhea did not allow _anyone_ to go down there. I respected her wishes - more than I should have, perhaps.”

Flayn put her small hands on his shoulders, kneading some of the tension out of them. “It may go without saying, but _we_ were quite unhappy with her! We all loved Sothis very much, and I believe she is watching over us, but this business of clones and vessels… it is the kind of thing the Sith would do!” 

“I need the truth, Seteth. I need to know everything.” 

His old master sighed. “I wished to respect Rhea’s wishes - and I did not wish to lie to you or hurt you - but now that she has shown you… the cloning facility, I will answer any question you have.” 

Byleth allowed himself a sip of the tea first, and a series of deep breaths. A Jedi should not let their fear and unease dominate them. “She called herself - and the two of you, I assume - Nabateans. Is that related to the lifeless world?” 

Everyone knew about Nabatea, the closest planet to the sun in the Fodlan System. Scientists argued that it had once been capable of sustaining life, but nothing lived there now. It was a dead, empty planet, moving silently through its orbit. 

“Nabatea, yes. It was once a beautiful, vibrant world,” Seteth said, the pain evident in his voice. “We lived simply, but happily. We all had a strong connection to the Force, but we had no thought of abusing it for power. Sothis… She was the oldest and wisest of us all. We treated her as a goddess; I do not know what she truly was. Perhaps she was a manifestation of the Force itself, because she had been on Nabatea, alone, long before any of us were born.” 

“Rhea called her _mother_.” 

“In a way, she was mother to all of us - but she was closest to Rhea. When she eventually passed on into the Force, I’m certain that she’d have selected Rhea as her successor.” 

Byleth frowned. “But something happened. If she’d died normally, the Grandmaster would not be so… unwilling to let go.” 

Seteth sighed. “It is a very old story, I’m afraid. Where there is Light, there will eventually be Darkness. Not _all_ of us were content with a simple life. Eventually, those who’d embraced the Dark Side - the Agarthans - rebelled against Sothis, hoping to seize power for themselves. Their leader, Thales, cast a horrific Force-ritual that drained the entire planet - every living thing on it - of its life. Sothis, and the Nabatean people, were wiped out in an instant.” 

Pieces fell quickly into place. “That’s the ‘illness’ Flayn was sleeping off.” 

Flayn gave a solemn little nod. “Sothis shielded Rhea and myself personally, but it was still almost fatal… I needed to rest for a very long time. And Rhea, she was… very hurt. Not physically, but feeling all of that death… it changed her.”

“My brothers and I were off-world at the time. We arrived back from our mission to find… the aftermath. Words cannot describe it, Byleth, and I do not wish to try.” Seteth’s voice almost broke, but he mastered himself. “We retrieved Rhea and Flayn, and Sothis’ body. No-one else had survived.”

“This Thales - he’s also the Lord of the Sith, isn’t he?” Byleth guessed. “That’s why he started in this System. Why he’s so concerned with this Enclave, of all the Jedi Enclaves.” 

“Yes,” Seteth said. “We fled to Adrestia, the most populated planet in the System. They did not have space-flight, but we… established an alliance, and lifted them up. Thales wasn’t expecting us to bring the humans into it, wasn’t prepared for our attack. We won the War, killing almost all of his followers - but he escaped. He’s been hiding from us for over a thousand years, plotting his vengeance.” 

“Rhea is Seiros.” The legends spoke of a Saint who granted the first Adrestian monarch his divine right to rule. Byleth could easily see how the truth had become distorted, given humans’ short memories and the passage of time. 

“Yes, and she… encouraged… the System to develop the way it has. If every Force-sensitive child came here for training, she could spot the next threat before it happened. While she established the Enclave, my brothers and I scoured the System for Thales, but we couldn’t locate him. Eventually, I dared to hope he’d died somewhere, alone and powerless.”

“But he survived. And he’s coming to finish what he started.”

“I know what you’re thinking,” Seteth said, sighing again. “The students, certainly, should evacuate. But nothing will convince Rhea to flee. She’d rather die fighting than let Thales ruin everything she’s worked to build.” 

“And though we have our disagreements… she _is_ very dear to us,” Flayn said. “I do not wish to abandon her.” 

Byleth nodded. “Very well. I’ll remain, too. Not for Rhea - but to protect you, Master. On one condition: if the battle turns out to be hopeless, we _will_ escape to fight another day.” 

Seteth and Flayn exchanged looks, a deep sadness flowing between them. Then: “You have my word, Byleth.” 

* * *

The evacuation order - _suggestion_ \- didn’t surprise Claude. The doom had been hanging over all of their heads. Even the least perceptive and weakest students had known it. 

Left to his own devices, with no other agenda, he’d have been on the first shuttle out of here. Some called it cowardice - Claude called it _surviving_. But the nature of the doom was clear: the Sith were coming, and Judith would kill him if he didn’t take the opportunity to get intel firsthand. 

He wasn’t surprised that Dimitri was remaining. The prince made no secret of believing the Sith responsible for Duscur; now he stalked through the Enclave, muttering about avenging the dead. (Sounded pretty Dark to Claude, but he didn’t have time to worry about other people). No surprise, too, that the other Faerghus students remained; loyalty and chivalry and all the other stupid values of that foolish planet. 

He _was_ a little surprised when he found out Edelgard would remain. If his suspicions were correct, surely there would soon be no more need for this pretense that she was here as a normal student. 

“Shouldn’t the Adrestian princess be returning to her home-world, instead of risking death for the sake of the Jedi?”

“Shouldn’t the next sovereign Duke of Leicester do the same?” she countered, with the barest hint of a smile. 

“Hey, you know me - I have an exit strategy.” Specifically, he’d requisitioned an SIS ship and had it on constant standby. He could be off-world at a moment’s notice. 

“And you know me. I’m quite capable of handling myself.” 

“Oh yeah, sure. Still… I hope you’ll permit me and mine to fight alongside you. Count Gloucester insisted Lorenz remain with specific orders to guard you...” Of course he had - he was always looking for a new way to curry favor from the most powerful planet in the System. “... and I share his sentiment. It would be just terrible if anything happened to you.”

“I do not need your protection,” Edelgard said, her annoyance obvious. “But you’re capable enough. It may be advantageous to fight together.” 

Sure, it would - but more importantly, he could keep an eye on her and her Adrestian friends. If they _were_ here to open the way for the other Sith, Claude would make damn sure to interrupt whatever sabotage they had planned. 

“It’s a deal.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Thales' ritual was borrowed from the Sith Emperor in the SWTOR MMO. Nemesis and the Relic Weapons aren't present in this so we will simplify the layers of TWSITD involvement lol. 
> 
> * Cloning! It's basically what Rhea did anyway, but now it's technology instead of magic. 
> 
> * The next chapter will be the battle for the Enclave. Which I'm sure will go well for everyone.


	20. Fall of the Enclave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> light CW: people get stabby in this one, injuries are not described in any detail though!

When the attack finally comes, it’s swift and brutal. Ashe has never seen this many ships in one place, and most of them are the kind of war-ships he’d only seen in books before. Their first move is to bombard the Enclave shipyard, quickly destroying any chance the Jedi have to escape what is quickly becoming a blockade of Garreg Mach…

… Or, that’s what they think. The _Kyphon_ isn’t at the shipyard. Thanks to the Jedi’s ability to sense this impending disaster in the Force, Ashe spent the last several days transporting padawans off-world, getting them somewhere safe. Now he and his crew are hiding in a seemingly unoccupied part of the planet, under cloaking devices and the natural cover of steep cliffs.

If any of the Faerghus Jedi who stayed behind to fight manage to escape, he’ll do his damndest to slip through the blockade and get them back home. It’s not just because the Prince’s red-haired Gautier friend offered to pay him (though he took the credits after Dorothea insisted). Ashe just couldn’t live with himself if he had a chance to help out and didn’t take it. 

Leonie and Petra actually went to fight. He’s seen them both handle plenty of danger; Leonie with her electrostaff and Petra with the smooth, unarmed strikes a splinter-group of Echani warriors had supposedly brought to the people of Brigid, hundreds of years ago. He’s still worried about them, pacing restlessly in front of the ship.

Dorothea is out of her mind with worry, too, which quickly turned to anger. She can’t believe they’re doing this. Can’t believe Ashe _let_ them go off and get themselves killed. They should be watching this on a holo-screen on their way back to Hutt space - what the hell did a ragtag band of smugglers think they could do to help in this situation? 

When she gets _really_ worried, _really_ angry, she accuses him of staying for Ingrid Galatea, but Ashe doesn’t even know how to respond to that. They’re just friends, right? He doesn’t want _any_ of his friends to die. 

He looks up as the transport shuttles start to deploy from the Sith flagships. The Enclave's ground cannons aren't firing - either they aren't functioning, or are already destroyed. There’s nothing stopping the invasion now… and all he can do is wait and hope. 

* * *

There’s no way they can win this fight. It doesn’t take someone with Claude’s instincts and experience to know it. First, the Sith traitors inside the Enclave sabotaged the defense turrets. He can’t stop it, because he isn’t there; foolishly, he assumed those traitors would all be with Edelgard herself. And once the Sith land, it’s simply a numbers game. The Jedi are outnumbered five to one. Even the SIS didn’t anticipate the Sith would have this many forces under their direct control. 

His suspicions are confirmed when he notices the Adrestian double-headed eagle on an enemy soldier’s uniform. It’s been hastily covered with a smear of red paint, but not completely - he can still spot a couple of wing-tips. So the domination of Adrestia is complete, and the Sith are bringing it out into the open now. They’re ready to make their move against the entire Galaxy. The war’s already begun. 

Edelgard pretends not to notice, and to her credit, shows no compulsion in cutting down soldier after soldier, even if they’re sworn into her service. Ice cold - but it’s far too late. She freezes when Claude puts the nose of his rifle into her back.

“I didn’t have a chance to show this off yet,” he muses. “I’ve been thinking - why _only_ a saber? Kyber crystals are just energy, right? Theoretically you could put them as a power-source into anything… well, once you strip away the Jedi’s religious hang-ups. Theoretically, you could make a light-rifle.” 

“If you’re counting on an experimental weapon to defeat me, you’re a fool,” she says, not even betraying a little concern with the weapon in her back. 

Ferdinand and Bernadetta start to move towards Claude, sabers raised, but Edelgard waves them away with an imperious gesture. “Take the Clan and leave,” she orders. “There’s no longer any point in pretending.” 

They don’t want to go, but they eventually do as she says. Claude is on his comms in the meantime. He can’t get Yuri, but he does reach Hapi, and orders her to take the other Wolves, round up those from Leicester who stayed behind, and get them to the Company ship concealed in the surrounding forest.

Edelgard still hasn’t moved a muscle. “I knew you were hiding _something_ \- but I didn’t suspect that. You’re pretty young for an SIS officer.” 

“You’re pretty young for a Sith. But I’m guessing we both had to grow up fast.” He uses the Force to watch his back, but he can’t sense anyone coming up behind him. The battle rages throughout the Enclave, but this little corner of it is quiet - at least for the moment. 

“I mean everything I’ve said to you, Claude.” She’s not afraid - not bargaining for her life. It’s probably not even in her nature. “The Lord of the Sith, Darth Arundel, seeks to make the entire Galaxy into his pliant slaves. It will be different once I overthrow him. Force-Sensitive and Force-Blind will be treated as equals. Even this System’s anti-alien prejudices will be-” 

So she’d guessed that much? It was a good guess, but he interrupts her all the same. “I told you before - I can’t agree with your methods.” He _should_ just pull the trigger and let his new rifle end this thing once and for all. He should - but uncharacteristically, Claude hesitates. 

A roar - louder than anything he’s ever heard in his life, even on the hunting plains of Almyra - makes him flinch. Edelgard does, too; she wasn’t expecting it, either. They both stare up as a huge _thing_ descends out of the sky, wings flapping, and crushes a whole battalion of the Sith soldiers underneath its claws. 

Claude purses his lips. “I figured Rhea wasn’t human, but I never saw _this_ coming.” 

For a moment, it almost looks like she’ll turn the tide of battle by herself. Smash through the forces on the ground, and maybe even fly up into space and tear through a few battle-ships. But the Empire’s brought beats of their own - hulking things he only recognizes from holo-books. Terentateks, apex predators of Kashyyyk, whose natural Force resistance and poisonous claws makes them an excellent tool for killing Jedi. 

They swarm over Rhea-the-beast and hold her in place. Then Claude notices… Lysithea, her eyes blank and empty, step up behind Rhea. Lightning forks through her fingers, gathering power and intensity - until she extends her hands and unleashes the full Force of it straight into Rhea’s back. Rhea screams, loud and terrifying… 

“ _Fuck_ ,” he swears - he can’t help it. All of their investigation into how, exactly, the Sith may have gotten to Lysithea... but he never suspected she’d actually _be_ one of them.

For some reason, Edelgard sets him straight. Her sense of fairness, perhaps? “She doesn’t know what she’s doing. Darth Arundel placed mental controls upon her after he killed her family. He must have activated them.” 

“The Jedi won’t realize _that_ , and he’s going to leave her to take all the blame.”

“Yes. Unless you let me take her with me. I swear to you, I will release her once she’s safe.” 

Claude doesn’t actually know if he would have let Edelgard do it; he never has the chance to decide. Because while he was distracted with Lystheia, he stopped paying attention to what was behind him, and he doesn’t notice Hubert until the man deactivates his cloaking device. The knife in his back is what announces Hubert’s presence.

A kick to the back of his leg drops him to his knees. Before he can react, he feels the cold metal of a second knife at his throat. 

Edelgard turns quickly and barks a command: “Hubert. Stop.” 

“But, my lord-” the man starts to object. 

“We don’t have time for this. I want to extract Lysithea before the Jedi kill her, _and_ I don’t want Arundel to realize we’ve done it.” 

It would take about two seconds to slit Claude’s throat and be on their way - a lot quicker than stopping to argue about it, actually. He can’t figure out why Edelgard ordered Hubert not to do it. Surely it’s not sentimentality, not _now_.

He can’t read anything in her eyes. She looks at him like he isn’t worth her time, turns away before seeing Hubert start to follow, confident her command will be obeyed.

And it is - sort of. Hubert leans forward and whispers in Claude’s ear: “The blade was poisoned. You’ll die all the same, Riegan.” Then he removes his knife from Claude’s throat, disappearing under his cloaking field once more. 

Claude hides a smile. Nothing about this situation is _funny,_ really, only - there’s not a poison in the Galaxy that he hasn’t built up a resistance to, by the simple expedient of constantly poisoning _himself_ in small doses. He casts about with the Force and quickly confirms it - Hubert didn’t use anything particularly exotic. His body will break it down before it does too much damage. 

Lysithea… He doesn’t like leaving any of his people behind, but he can’t fight Edelgard off in this condition. And he knows Edelgard can be trusted to a certain extent. When she gives her word like that, she intends to follow through. 

He’ll smuggle a message to Lysithea later, help her find a ship back to Leicester. For now, he digs the knife out of his back and stands, his legs shaky but functional. Enough to get him out of here, onto the SIS ship - and off this damn planet. 

* * *

Dimitri quickly outstrips all of his friends, despite their best efforts to keep up with him. He’s only focused on one thing: the leader of the Sith, the one standing back and directing all of his forces without a care in the Galaxy. 

He cuts through enemy soldiers until he loses count. Sometimes he doesn’t have time to stab them with his weapon, so he simply uses a fist, packed with so much Force that their necks snap and shatter. 

The Sith lord has apprentices close at hand, but he cuts those down too, his double-bladed saber smashing through their own lightsabers’ guard, running them through. When the last one falls, he screams in triumph. “Face me, you coward!”

His enemy's face turns to him, stark white. His alien features twist into a sneer. With a click of his fingers, a Force-illusion settles into place.

Dimitri stares. “Uncle…” For it’s truly the form of Arundel, his stepmother’s brother. They’ve only met a handful of times, the last being when he came to pick up Edelgard from a summer vacation with her Faerghus relatives.

 _Edelgard…_ No, it couldn’t be true. But what if it was? 

The Sith drops the illusion and snaps his saber to life. Dimitri snarls and answers the challenge. This is everything he’s been waiting for, and -

-And it’s over in seconds, ‘Arundel’ slipping under his guard and forcing his weapon down. He places a hand on Dimitri’s chest and channels lightning into him, Dimitri jerking back and screaming. Helpless. Unable to move.

 _“Weak,”_ he hears Glenn say, his tone disgusted.

“You’re not worth my time,” the Sith lord says, when Dimitri is lying on the ground, still twitching from the remnant pain of the lightning, unable to move. “Pathetic. Even your fool father put up more of a fight.” 

Dimitri tries to stand, but physically _can’t_ , his limbs refusing to move. His heart is beating wildly - ‘Arundel’ could have easily kept up his attack until it burst, but he’s not doing it. He’s turning away and leaving Dimitri, as if Dimitri is some insect he can’t be bothered with.

“Your Highness!” Dedue is at his side, faithful as always. He helps Dimitri to stand, looping an arm around his own armored shoulder. “We must go. Captain Ubert’s ship is standing by; the others have already retreated-” 

“I’m not _fleeing_ ,” he snarls (ineffectual, _weak_ \- Dedue is simply dragging him along, despite his protests). “That man… I must kill that man! I must tear him to pieces, and-!” 

“We _will_ avenge them, Your Highness, but we must live to fight another day,” Dedue says. It’s reasonable, but he doesn’t want to hear that right now. Lambert and Patricia stare at him, twin looks of complete and total disappointment. He’s failed them, and they can’t stand the sight of him.

They’re out of the Enclave and halfway to the ship when someone stops them. Dimitri recognizes her: Cornelia Arnim, a noble of the court, granted the position for curing some plague when he was only a child. What is _she_ doing here? 

His blood runs cold when she bows to him - _and then bows to Lambert and Patricia_. Nobody can see the ghosts. Not even other Force-Sensitives can see them. And yet… 

“What’s the meaning of this?” he manages. 

“Oh, of course I can see them,” Cornelia says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Your stepmother and I were _very_ dear friends. I’ve always felt just _terrible_ about her death… If there’s anything I can do to help with her regrets so that she might pass on…” 

Dedue shifts, scowls at her. “Your Highness, I don’t like this.” 

Dimitri ignores him. “Patricia lingers… because I’m too weak to avenge her. I fought the Lord of the Sith just now, and he… he defeated me so completely! He did not even bother to finish me off, I was so weak. So pathetic.” 

“Hmm, well, _that’s_ no good,” Cornelia says, sing-song. Under other circumstances, he might be suspicious - asking basic questions like _why don’t you seem surprised_ or _what are you doing here_? 

_“You’re not strong enough,”_ Lambert says.

 _“... But you can be. If you had a proper master,”_ Patricia says, her eyes focused on Cornelia. Cornelia smirks and gives a little bow. 

“You study the Dark Side,” Dimitri breathes. 

“Oh yes. It’s how I was able to cure the plague so easily,” she says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “The Jedi teach you to fear it… because they know it’s the best way to gain power. They’re afraid of what you could do if you gave yourself over to it.” 

“Your Highness, don’t do this. If she’s a Sith-” Dedue pleads. 

“I don’t care,” Dimitri says, cutting him off. “I must destroy Arundel!” 

“ _That’s_ the spirit,” Cornelia breathes, her eyes shining with excitement. She claps her hands together. “Your first lesson: you must cut away everything that makes you weak, any lingering regrets. That’s the only way to become what you were _meant_ to be.” 

Dimitri knows what she means. He knows, because he’s heard the same words from Lambert and Patricia’s lips before. He pushes away from Dedue, takes a deep and shuddering breath. 

“I can’t! I can’t do it.” 

“It’s the only way,” Cornelia says. “Unless you’d rather stay as weak as you are… Never strong enough to avenge your dear family, dear Glenn…” 

Dedue doesn’t say a word, which just makes it worse. He doesn’t try to run, doesn’t lift a weapon to fight back. He looks at Dimitri the way he always has - implicit trust, faith that Dimitri would never hurt him. 

He looks that way up until Dimitri drives the lightsaber into his chest. Until he topples to the ground and lies still. 

Cornelia clicks her tongue. “The head would have been better-” 

Her voice cuts off, her hands scrabbling to her throat. Dimitri chokes her with the Force until she gets the point, then lets her go. She’s panting for breath, but she doesn’t look angry - she’s actually smiling.

“Yes,” she croons. “You’re learning. Don’t be afraid of what you’re feeling… Let it all out. Let it be your power.”

“I assume you brought a ship,” he says. He can’t look at Dedue’s body.

“Yes… I can take you back to my personal estate, my lord. Nobody will disturb us there…”

“Then shut up,” he growls, “and take me there.” 

For the first time that he can remember, all three ghosts look happy. He must be doing the right thing, at long last. But it came at such a cost… 

* * *

They go out looking when Dedue fails to report in. Ingrid finds him first, alerting the others in a small, broken voice. There’s no sign of Dimitri, and Dedue is in a bad way. 

They get him to the ship and into the med-bay. As Ashe takes off, weaving his way expertly through the blockade, Mercedes sets to work. It’s a minor miracle that Dedue is still alive at all, but she’s a skilled enough healer to keep him that way. 

Sylvain and Felix sit outside the med-bay. Felix isn’t looking at any of them. Sylvain knows he’s taking it the hardest, which doesn’t even make sense, because Felix was always the one who saw this coming, always tried to warn them it was inevitable. 

Once the Dark Side got to you, it would never let go, and Dimitri had sure as hell let the Dark Side get to him during that rebellion. Was everything after that just an act? Was he exactly what Felix said he was: a wild, ravening rancor, who’d just tried to kill his most loyal friend before vanishing to who-knows-where?

Dedue doesn’t wake up until they’re back in Faerghus space. They all crowd around him, heedless of Mercedes’ warnings that he needs to rest. Dedue ignores them, too, struggling to sit up and speak to them. 

“We have to find him,” Dedue croaks.

“Are you insane? He just tried to murder you,” Felix snarls. 

“No… would be dead, if he’d meant it… pulled the blow.” 

“I can’t listen to this… this dog making excuses for its master,” Felix says, and stalks out of the med-bay. They let him go. 

Sylvain half-listens as Dedue explains what happened. None of them had suspected Cornelia might be one of the Sith, and now it’s too late. They can dispatch any number of Knights to her estate, but he knows it won’t matter. She’s been planning this for a long time. Maybe as long as they’ve been alive.

Two birds with one stone - Faerghus will be disorganized and chaotic, easy prey with Andrestia launches its next attack. And she has the Prince of Faerghus under her thumb, so eager to Fall that he just tried to kill his most loyal friend.

Or maybe Dedue is right - maybe Dimitri couldn’t bring himself to do it. Maybe he turned the saber aside at the last possible moment. If their Dimitri, the old Dimitri, was still in there somewhere, they _might_ not have to kill him.

“Either way,” he said aloud, “We have to find him. Or this war is gonna be over before it’s even started.” 

Ingrid runs an arm over her eyes and pulls out her comm. Always one to focus on the practical things to avoid despair - that was Ingrid for you. “Knight Byleth says that he and most of the other instructors managed to escape… so did Flayn and Master Seteth. No sign of Grandmaster Rhea, though. He says they’re duty bound to search for her.” 

“Tell him… tell him we’ll work with them,” Sylvain decides, because nobody is stepping up to give the orders. He sure as hell doesn’t want to, but _someone_ has to. “As soon as we report back, I’ll go meet up with them.” 

It would be better than hanging around as his father and Felix’s father and Ingrid’s father and all the others jostled for advantage in the power vacuum. Better than doing his duty as a Gautier and being forced into some marriage to secure their bloodline ahead of this inevitable war. 

“I will, too,” Ingrid says. She bites her lip and their eyes meet, because neither of them have any idea of what _Felix_ is going to do. 

“Give him space for now,” Sylvain says, in answer to the question her eyes were asking. “He’ll join us, or he won’t.”

It comes out harsher than he intended, and she can tell he’s faking it, but she doesn’t press the issue. There’s too much to do.

Later - much later - he finds Felix in one of the ship’s storage bays. Felix has his sabers out, but he’s not doing anything. He’s just staring at the opposite wall. 

“Go ahead and get it out of your system,” Sylvain jokes - a very bad joke, but they’re all exhausted and tired and _scared_. “You were right again!” 

“I felt you planning,” Felix says, and Sylvain knows he means the bond. “I’m coming, too. Neither of you have the strength to cut the rancor down.” 

“We might not have to-” 

“He’s already dead, Sylvain. _Dimitri_ has been dead for two years. That… that _thing_ , it’s just the rancor.” 

_This really didn’t seem like a healthy coping mechanism,_ Sylvain wants to say, but he’s too much of a coward. He just bit his lip and gave a jerky nod. “Okay.” 

“Good.” 

He can tell Felix is in a bad way, because Felix doesn’t even pretend to object when Sylvain sits down next to him, doesn’t protest when Sylvain wraps him up in a desperate hug. Felix’s eyes are wet, but he isn’t letting himself cry - isn’t letting himself _feel_ anything. (Maybe, Sylvain thinks, he hasn’t let himself for four years - ever since Duscur. Ever since Glenn). 

Some piece of Sylvain, the selfish part of him, wants that moment to last forever. It can’t, of course, because the ship will eventually touch down in Fhirdiad and they’ll both be pulled in a dozen different directions at once. But he doesn’t want to think about that. 

He just thinks about the present moment, and what it feels like to be holding Felix. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * This chapter demanded to be written in present tense for some reason. Greater sense of urgency? 
> 
> * I did not make up the lightsaber rifle idea, it was in one of the comic books. Though I believe it worked differently there and actually fired lightsabers as projectiles. 
> 
> * I've been waiting for this chapter from the start of the fic. Exploring a Jedi Dimitri falling to the Dark Side is obviously one of the main reasons I wanted to write this AU. Obviously the circumstances are a little different and Cornelia manipulates him into it more directly, but that is how Sith do.


	21. Two Years Later...

**Adrestia**

The Sith were winning the war, and it was an absolute disaster. 

Edelgard had known the Republic was weak and unprepared, but even her contempt had overstated their case. Adrestia’s sudden attack left the Core Worlds reeling and scrambling their defenses. Arundel’s forces seized planet after planet. Coruscant itself was in his sights - causing the main branch of the Jedi Order to pull most of its Knights back. A mistake; it allowed Arundel to bypass the capital-planet and continue to seize territory. The worlds were falling faster than ever with the Jedi out of the field. 

She’d thought resistance from within the Fodlan System itself would slow him down. And certainly, Leicester’s new sovereign Duke was giving them quite the headache. He’d hired hundreds of smugglers, decreed them “privateers,” and ordered them to harass the Adrestian supply lines at every turn. For the first time in the entire war, Arundel’s offensive stumbled, its vital tendons cut.

Faerghus’ military was much smaller than Adrestia’s, but it gave its Jedi Knights direct control of battalions, creating what was arguably the Galaxy’s most elite fighting force. The current chaos gave them the perfect opportunity to attack the distracted Sith forces, but… Faerghus _still_ didn’t attack, and continued staying on the defensive. 

“This has to change,” she told her war council, as she finished outlining the situation. “If Faerghus doesn’t start pushing back, my uncle will win the war; and it will be almost impossible to launch our coup against him.” 

An awkward silence was all that greeted her. Ferdinand and Hubert looked at each other, then at the ground. Bernadetta chewed at her nails. Linhardt was actually asleep, damn him, and Caspar’s eyes had glazed over with all the talk of grand strategy. Jeritza and Mercedes would usually be present, but Arundel had appropriated the ‘Death Knight’ for his Core Worlds campaign, and his sister had gone with him. 

Edelgard scowled. “You have something you wish to say, Lord Aegir?” 

Ferdinand flicked some hair out of his eyes. He’d not had it cut in over two years, and (she thought) was starting to look ridiculous. “When you convinced me to join you… You promised me you would be different from the squabbling Sith of old. I believed you, and for the most part you have rewarded my trust. But I must protest! This suggestion is dishonorable in the extreme. To help the enemy simply to gain advantage against our fellow Sith, it’s…” 

“-The exact reason our once-great Empire fell into ruin. Trust me, I’m _well_ aware,” she said, glaring at him. “Hubert, does my ‘uncle’ leave us any other option?” 

Her spymaster was reluctant to speak - a rarity. Eventually, he cleared his throat. “It _would_ be much more difficult to overthrow the Sith Lord who finally conquered the Republic. But my lord, I am also uneasy about helping our foes. It is a delicate balance… assist them too much, and there will not be many Sith left to seize control of.” 

The truth wasn’t in Hubert’s evasive words, but in the way he said them. For two years, he’d been afraid - afraid that her time at the Enclave had left her soft, unwilling to do what needed to be done. They’d once trusted once another implicitly, but when she ordered him not to kill Claude Riegan, something had broken, and they hadn’t yet managed to repair it. 

“D-delicate, yeah, but at this rate, the war will be over before the year is out!” Bernadetta said. Edelgard flashed her an encouraging smile; she rarely spoke during these sessions, but she paid close attention, and it was good to see her pluck up the courage to give her input. “Arundel will get rid of _us_ as soon as he wins.” 

Hubert acknowledged the point with a nod. Reservations or not, he was still professional. “The issue with Faerghus is the disappearance of their Crown Prince. Duke Fraldarius and the council of nobles are barely unified enough to prevent a civil war over the succession crisis; much less go on the offensive.”

“Where does Intelligence think he is?” 

Hubert’s short pause told her she wasn’t going to like this news. Then: “He has been sighted with Cornelia.”

Ferdinand hissed. “He’s gone over to Arundel!? That is… a disaster.” 

“Not as such. Certainly, we can sense Arundel’s hand behind this gambit, but he hasn’t joined the war. Our agents spotted him in Hutt Space, actually, which is admittedly… confusing.” 

Edelgard saw what Hubert was missing. “He didn’t Fall to start killing his old friends. He Fell because he wants the power to avenge his family. Cornelia must have convinced him she’s independent of Arundel. If we can expose the truth...” 

“You know him better than I, my lord; I trust your judgment,” Hubert said, with a deferential nod. “From Arundel’s point of view, removing Dimitri from the board is almost as good. Faerghus is no threat without their King.” 

“Then our course is clear. I can only assume there are search parties out?” 

“Yes. The most active are those childhood friends of his. Our reports indicate those three spend most of their time scouring the Galaxy to pick up his trail.” 

“Find a way to get them the intel pointing towards Hutt space. Make sure they don’t realize Intelligence is the source, or they’ll assume a trap.”

“It will be done, my lord.” Hubert bowed and swept out of the room. 

She snapped her fingers in front of Linhardt’s face. “Where are we with the Mandalore?” 

Linhardt didn’t open his eyes, but he was clearly awake now. He sighed before answering. “The same as always. She doesn’t care if this clan or that takes a side, but she’s not looking to order the whole of our people into the war.”

“No matter. In time, we’ll prove our worth as an employer.” 

“She definitely respects you more than Arundel!” Caspar said. “Ladislava can’t _stand_ the guy. You should hear her-” 

“Caspar,” Linhardt groaned. “Just because she pays us _doesn’t_ mean she gets access to all our internal discussions…” 

“Oh… Oh yeah.” Caspar briefly looked ashamed, but he’d forget all about it in his excitement the next time he wanted to say something. She supposed it was one of the reasons he was always here with her - the Mandalorians minimizing his opportunity to learn some clan secret that was _actually_ important. 

So it followed that allowing him to learn _that_ was Ladislava’s way of assuring Edelgard that when the time came, the Mandalorians would be with her and not her uncle. It was all the more reason that they had to locate and retrieve Dimitri quickly. Everything was falling into place - but she had to make a move before the opportunity passed her by.

* * *

**Leicester**

“... The Almyrans don’t want to be ruled by Adrestia any more than we do,” Claude said. “I think we should hear them out.”

Lorenz shot him an amused look, and Claude thought he knew why. As soon as he’d ascended to be the head of House Riegan and the leader of Leicester, Claude had started openly wearing his Mirialan tattoos. His father’s people drew the marks to indicate achievements in their life - and becoming sovereign Duke was a hell of an achievement, if Claude did say so himself. 

Of course, the tattoos called more attention to his Almyran heritage than ever. It wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. Claude enjoyed watching some of the older Leicester lords squirm every time they looked him in the eyes. 

In a way, he owed this to Edelgard. The thought of being invaded and subjugated by the Sith had a way of making even the most conservative nobles open their minds to new ideas. Claude’s unorthodox tactics had helped them to survive so far… which was why the Roundtable was even _considering_ the proposed alliance with their most hated neighbor-planet. 

“What are they offering, exactly?” Marianne’s adopted father, Margrave Edmund. Always with an eye to the bottom line. 

“As many troops as they can spare from their own defenses. On condition that we bring a General of their choosing into our war council, and don’t deploy the forces without that General’s express consent.” 

“Who?” 

“Nader the Undefeated,” Claude said, with only a moment’s hesitation. He knew his father was trying to help - Nader was one of Claude’s most loyal followers - but he was _also_ the Almyran general most responsible for raids into Leicester space (seemingly whenever he got bored, which was ‘often’). 

To his relief, Holst Goneril started laughing. Good - the guy hadn’t taken the last skirmish personally. “Undefeated, huh? I think the last time we met says otherwise.” 

“Almyrans look at things a little differently. He survived to fight another day, so he wasn’t _defeated_ , exactly.” 

“I’ll let him have it,” Holst said, magnanimous. His eyes flashed. “Say - does that mean they’re offering Beast Riders?” 

“Ten battalions of their best,” Claude said, flicking through his datapad. 

“We should take the deal,” Goneril said immediately. “Trust me - you want those guys on _your_ side.” 

“Thank you for your expert opinion,” Count Gloucester said, ice in his tone. “I suggest the Roundtable take the time to weigh its options. Almyran forces will not come without strings attached…” 

“The strings aren’t so bad,” Claude said airily. “A trade treaty benefits both sides, and a formal cessation of hostilities just acknowledges the current situation.” 

“Almyra is a planet of alien _heathens_ ,” the Count said. Oh, he was good and worked up now. “We should leave them in their place. Our _traditional_ allies-” 

“-Are allowing the System to crumble down around them, and not lifting a finger,” Edmund rumbled. Claude hid a smirk; with the Margrave on his side, the matter was sealed. “Almyran aid is not my first choice, but Faerghus has let us bear the brunt of the conflict for _two years_. Enough is enough.” 

“I haven’t given up on them just yet,” Claude said. “But we need help _now_ , and Almyra can provide it.”

“Without a King, Faerghus is useless,” Lysithea said bluntly. Now that she’d taken her family seat, she was the youngest one in the room by several years, and the others had been a little skeptical at first. Claude knew her too well to underestimate her, though; she was a shrewd and tough negotiator, and didn’t cut him any slack just because they’d been at the Enclave together. When he got Ordelia’s vote, he’d really _earned_ it. 

“Just so. I believe he can be found… our friends in the SIS are working on it.” No-one had eluded Yuri and his team for this long. Whoever had Dimitri was being extremely careful - but they couldn’t keep him hidden forever. “We’ll need _both_ Faerghus and Almyra to have a hope of fighting back. But this is a start.” 

“Very well,” Count Gloucester said with a sigh. “And since a united front will assuage our people’s fears... Let it be five of five votes in favor of the treaty.” 

Nobody could jump onto the winning bandwagon _quite_ like a Gloucester. 

* * *

**Faerghus**

The last two years had, frankly, sucked. Adrestia and the Sith ran around the Galaxy, conquering world after world. Faerghus’ nobles bickered and refused to fight back. Dimitri was still missing.

Worst of all, Sylvain was about at his limit with Felix. 

Under different circumstances, it might have been funny - how loudly and frequently Felix insisted he was ready to kill the rancor the second they located him, even as the Force bond betrayed his true feelings. For every confident declaration, Sylvain was treated to a twist of Felix’s internal agony over the prospect; yet if he or Ingrid responded to Felix’s actual emotions, instead of the lies coming out of his mouth, Felix would ignore them (at best) or get pissed and _then_ ignore them (at worst). 

And Felix was _so_ wrapped up with Dimitri and the idea of Dimitri that he didn’t spare a moment to consider the way he felt about Sylvain. Sylvain was ready for the next step - had been ready for almost three years at this point - but Felix refused to engage. Each time his frustrations boiled over and he dragged Sylvain to a corner of the ship to burn through them, it was as if it was the first time he’d thought of it. There was no follow-up, no continuity. 

Sylvain knew he _should_ stand up for himself and insist they talk about it like adults. But the prospect of losing what they had, as half-formed and incomplete as it was, terrified him. Instead, he let himself be used. 

It wasn’t healthy for anyone, least of all Ingrid, who had to sit and watch as her two remaining closest friends kept hurting each other. She kept trying to talk to Sylvain about it, but he was a coward about _that_ , too, and always made some excuse to avoid her. 

In short, the tension in the _Kyphon_ was about to boil over, though Ashe was blissfully unaware. Smuggling _really_ didn’t suit the guy. It was a war, and Riegan was offering double the smugglers' usual wages if they signed up to be part of his “privateer” force; running supplies for Adrestia was even more profitable. In their captain’s place, Sylvain would’ve been chasing the credits. But Ashe didn’t even think about abandoning the search.

It was a relief when Hapi got on the ship intercom and called a meeting. The SIS agent had pretended to be a new smuggler recruit for all of five minutes before growing bored with the charade and revealing the truth: the Republic wanted Dimitri found just as badly as the rest of them. That Yuri guy from the Academy was the leader of her cell. Sylvain took it all in stride; there’d always been something weird about those four. A spy ring made just as much sense as any of _his_ theories. 

“Right, everyone stop moping,” she said, once they were all seated around the small table. “I’ve got a lead.” 

Felix sneered. “No thanks. Your last lead got us stranded in a Killik hive on Alderaan-” 

“That was just a hunch. This is _intel_ ,” Hapi said reverently. “Yuri-bird has eyes and ears all over, and one of _them_ said Didi was spotted on Nar, two days ago.” 

Sylvain had a pretty good idea of the real source of this intel. Constance Nuvelle had been inseparable from the other three, and she was currently working to restore her House on Adrestia. This could all be an Intelligence set-up… but nah, he’d drive himself crazy imagining every double-agent was a triple-agent. And besides, it _was_ the first time they'd gotten a sighting this recent. 

“What’s he doing _there_?” Ingrid asked, eyes narrowed.

“Hitting the Hutts where it hurts, apparently. Couple of the Cartel’s biggest big-shots wound up dead last week, and the last couple slave auctions ended early on account of the slavers being torn apart. Literally. I saw pics of the pieces.” 

Something in Sylvain’s stomach twisted. “I get it now. Whoever took him is using his best impulses against him. Saving slaves, helping kids… but twisting him up with the Dark Side all the while.” 

“Yeah,” Hapi said. “Cornelia’s good at that.” She smirked at the look on their faces. “Oh yeah, forgot to mention, we confirmed she’s on-world, too.” 

“She was obviously involved with Duscur. Two years, and he’s still too stupid to see it…” Felix’s fingers closed on the hilts of his lightsabers, instinct and reflex. 

“Not too stupid,” Dedue said gently. “Too desperate. He thinks it is the only way to gain enough power. He thinks he can take her training and kill her - and the rest of them - with it.” 

“You’re pretty confident, considering he left you for dead.” 

“We’ve been over this. If he wished me dead, I would be. The real Dimitri is still in there.” Dedue’s confidence on this point had never wavered. Even when the other three despaired, he was quietly confident that they’d succeed in saving the prince. 

Sylvain sometimes found it annoying, but Force knew they needed it right now. 

“He’s _way_ too obvious for that to work,” Hapi sighed. “Trust me - Cornelia was _my_ master for a while. I know how trying to betray her goes.” She continued on, heedless of their stares, as if being a former Sith was just something you casually tossed out there as an afterthought. “We’d better go talk some sense into him.”

“Or _beat_ some sense into him,” Felix scowled. “Show him you don’t need to grovel under the Sith to get _real_ power.” 

“We need more info. ‘Hutt space’ isn’t good enough,” Ingrid pointed out. 

“So we use the Cartel,” Ashe said. He’d been quiet for most of the conversation, but this was his area of expertise, and all eyes turned to him. “Those two he killed were both in the Hutts’ innermost circle. He’s obviously working his way down from the top - which means it’ll be Jarro’s turn soon. I can get us on Jarro’s security team, easy.” 

“The one who put a price on your head?” Ingrid looked skeptical. “You sure you want to walk right into his palace?” 

“Nothing like offering to save someone’s life to make them forgive your bounty,” Ashe said with a grin. “Jarro’s a coward, and this situation is gonna have him running scared. He’ll jump at the chance for genuine Jedi bodyguards.” 

“It’s worth a shot,” Sylvain agreed. This was the closest they’d ever gotten to Dimitri. He’d be willing to pose as a Hutt “exotic dancer” if that’s what it took. 

The last two years had truly sucked. But things were looking up. For example, he now had the satisfaction of watching Felix’s face contort when he sent _that_ particular mental image through their bond. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Much shorter timeskip because of the technology differences etc. I guess faster than light travel makes decisive conflicts happen QUICK. The entire Clone Wars, in canon, lasted only 3 years! The Republic finished mopping up the Empire post-Death Star II in 1 year! Crazy.
> 
> * Wyverns obviously aren't gonna be a thing, but there's plenty of nasty Star Wars-verse animals that Almyrans can be good at riding.


	22. Nar Shaddaa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: violence, injury (as usual, not very detailed)

Another hideous monster lay dead at his feet. The slug’s slaves didn’t seem that happy with their new freedom. Perhaps they were still traumatized from watching Dimitri kill the Hutt with his (Force-enhanced) bare hands. He glared at them until they got the message and scurried out of the palace.

“Very good,” Cornelia cooed in his ear. “You’re so strong when you let your passion rule you…” 

She seemed physically incapable of dropping this seduction routine, despite Dimitri’s obvious disgust for her. She just laughed when he pushed her away, leaving bloody handprints over her dress. 

He hated her so much, it hurt. He fully intended to tear her to pieces the moment he was strong enough - a moment that was fast approaching, if the ease with which he’d slaughtered this Hutt was any indication. Her attempt to twist that passionate hatred into lust might have worked on her previous enemies, but it would not work on him. 

“Come, witch,” he barked. 

“Whatever you say,” she simpered, trailing behind him like an obedient servant. (He wasn’t fooled, not for a moment, but the Force would warn him when she attempted to stab him in the back). 

His lodgings on this accursed moon were hardly fit for a prince, but they were certainly good enough for the beast he’d become. A run-down, single room in the most dangerous of the Red Light District’s slums. There were more brothels and drug dens within a hundred feet of here than in all of Faerghus combined. Every conceivable vice was accepted and indulged.

Dimitri ignored it all. He hadn’t chosen this place for the pleasures of the flesh. It was because nobody would miss the spice-runners and traffickers and slavers who did their business here. Whenever the ghosts cried out for blood, he could give it to them guilt-free. 

“Who’s next?” He forced himself to eat something; later, he’d force himself into a facsimile of sleep. Enough to restore his full power before he slaughtered the next Hutt.

“Jarro,” Cornelia said, crossing out the name of tonight’s victim. Instead of using a datapad, Dimitri had drawn it onto the wall of the apartment, a sprawling list of Hutt names, organized by hierarchy. Half the names were crossed through at this point; many remained. 

“I’ll kill him tomorrow,” he decided. At first, he’d scouted each palace out before attacking, but he was growing ever more confident in his own power. He didn’t need to prepare; he’d walk in there and crush the slug beneath his heel. 

When he closed his eyes, he could not help thinking of Marianne. Was this the dark future she’d been so afraid of? She needn’t have worried. He’d never felt so much power, so much clarity of purpose.

True, there was no place for her in his life, now… Not yet. But when he finished putting Arundel down like the best he was, when he, Dimtiri, was Lord of the Sith… perhaps he’d want a queen beside him on that dark throne. 

* * *

There was something different about Jarro’s palace, and if Dimitri had been thinking instead of simply smashing his way through everything he saw, he might have noticed it. None of the security forces stood their ground; they just turned and ran at the sight of him. 

It was a smart move, but it _was_ unusual. Hutt hires tended to be extremely loyal, if only out of fear: the Cartel stuck together, and a guard who didn’t give it their best effort in protecting their master would certainly find their family or loved ones feeling the other Hutts’ displeasure. The last several palaces of underlings had all fought to the death to avoid that fate. 

He was so twisted up with his own anger that he didn’t even sense them until he saw them. The palace’s throne room did not contain Jarro the Hutt. Instead, four people were standing there waiting for him. Four people who’d once been his closest friends.

Dimitri wasn’t sure how he felt about Dedue. He’d very nearly killed the man - pulling back at the last possible moment. By some miracle, Dedue had survived, _and_ came all this way out of… loyalty? Concern? 

And Dedue’s face was calm. As if he wasn’t afraid. As if Dimitri wasn’t a monster who’d almost taken his life. What did it mean? 

The other three, though… Felix just looked angry, clearly wanting a fight. Sylvain’s body language told the story: when that fight happened, he’d be taking Felix’s side. And Ingrid, glancing between them with the indecision plainly written on her face.

Dimitri scowled. The anger was easier, and he let it suffuse him as he glared at the three Jedi. “I should’ve known _you’d_ betray me, too. How long did you wait to join my enemies?” 

Sylvain lifted his hands away from his weapon and held them out so Dimitri could see that they were empty. “That’s not what this is, Dimitri. We’re not working for the Sith; we’re trying to snap _you_ out of it.” 

He rolled his eyes. “I know what I’m doing. Cornelia is a vile worm-” 

“-I’m right here,” she said, though she didn’t sound bothered. She was staring at the four of them, too, murderous intent in her eyes.

“-and I am using her, that is all. Once I’ve grown strong enough, I’ll kill her - and Arundel - and all the rest of them!” 

“You think she doesn’t know that? She’s using _you_ , too. You’re out here, instead of back on Faerghus where you belong. We need our King!” Ingrid’s scowl was painfully familiar. The kind she’d reserved for when the three of them got up to something particularly stupid as kids, and she’d had to pull them all out of it-

-Dimitri shook the pleasant memory away. He didn’t deserve _pleasant_. “Let Faerghus fall. When I am Lord of the Sith, I will restore it. It will be the grand seat of my new Empire.” 

“Are you listening to yourself?” Felix sneered. “Who cares if you get strong enough to kill the Sith? If you use the Dark Side to do it, you’re just going to take their place!” 

“The dead care!” he shouted, gesturing wildly at the three ghosts that trailed his every move. From the looks on their faces, he could tell it was useless - he was still the only one who perceived them. “My father, stepmother, _Glenn_ , cry out for vengeance-”

“Don’t you dare use _him_ to justify your stupidity,” Felix snarled. He shook Sylvain’s restraining hand off of his shoulder. “Fine, you think you’re so strong? You think the Dark Side gives you so much power? See if you can even beat _me,_ rancor.” 

“Good. Let’s drop the pretense. You’re here to kill me; you may _try_.” He activated his double-bladed saber. Somewhere along the way, these past two years, the blue crystal within had been twisted up; the blades were red now, reflecting the Dark inside him.

Dedue swiftly aimed his rifle in Cornelia’s direction. “I would suggest you do not interfere.” 

“Oh, don’t worry. This is _too_ much fun,” she said, not even attempting to hide her smirk. Dimitri knew she was hoping they cut each other down and saved her the trouble. She would be disappointed - he was stronger than he’d ever been.

Felix was on the attack a moment after he’d activated his own twin sabers. Dimitri expected it. They hadn’t exactly been friendly sparring partners those last few months at the Enclave, but he _knew_ Felix, the way you only could when you basically grew up together.

“It’s funny that you’re here to lecture _me_ on the Dark Side,” he said, when their sabers locking together gave him a moment’s respite. 

“Because I’m such a big hypocrite for using Juyo?” Felix sneered. He broke the lock with a spinning slash that forced Dimitri back a step. “I can control my aggression. You get a single taste and start wallowing in the mud!” 

“Half-measures,” Dimitri sneered back. “You’re afraid of embracing _real_ power.” He let his hatred coalesce into physical form - Force lightning, crackling and coursing through both sides of his weapon. 

Their duel continued in silence for several, tense minutes. Felix scored several hits, but Dimitri ignored the pain and kept going, pushing past any physical limitations. Eventually, he managed a glancing blow on Felix’s side. With the lightning, it was enough. Felix jerked back, writhing as it transferred from Dimitri’s weapon into his body. 

Sylvain and Ingrid were there in moments, leaping through the air and landing between him and Felix’s prone form. Ingrid helped him to stand while Sylvain activated his saber with a flourish, smoothly catching Dimitri’s weapon before it could slash down at their friend.

“Come on, snap out of it,” Sylvain said, a plea in his tone. “You weren’t _actually_ going to hurt Felix, were you?” 

“Don’t hesitate!” Felix managed to say through chattering teeth. “Damn it, Sylvain, I’m telling you, he’s _gone_!” 

It was good advice. Sylvain should have taken it. He didn’t. Soresu users were masters of turning an opponent’s mistakes against them, but Sylvain wasn’t looking to take advantage of those openings. He was only trying to prolong the duel while not hurting his opponent - a foolish mistake. A weakness. 

Ingrid joined in, but she, too, was hesitating. Her saber-form involved many an acrobatic maneuver that constantly put her at his back, with Sylvain doggedly drawing his attention from the front. She should have run him through and ended the duel - but she was still holding on to this fantasy where this wasn’t a fight to the death. As if he’d scurry right back to their side if they were nice enough.

“You don’t get it,” he shouted, spinning his weapon to block both of them in quick succession. “The Jedi are weak. _I_ was weak. I’ve tasted _real_ power, and I won’t give it up!” 

Felix was in bad shape after the lightning, but forced himself to join back in. Dimitri laughed, because it was truly funny. Felix had called his use of the Dark Side _wallowing_ , but here he was, about to beat all three of them at once.

He lifted a hand and caught Ingrid in mid-air, tossing her straight into Felix and sending both of them to the ground in a heap. Sylvain joined them a moment later when Dimitri ducked under his guard and kicked his legs out from under him, hard enough that something snapped. Sylvain didn’t cry out, but he didn’t get up, either. 

“Excellent work,” Cornelia laughed. “Now finish them off… as I deal with this worm.” 

Dimitri lifted his saber to comply; then paused. What worm? She didn’t mean - 

She did. She’d already used the Force to disarm Dedue and hold him still. Now she stalked towards him, a predator playing with her prey. She activated her saber slowly, pointing it towards his face.

With her Force crushing him, Dedue couldn’t speak, couldn’t move. His eyes flicked to Dimitri, communicating a silent plea. 

He was moving before he’d even realized he’d come to a decision. With no time for anything else, he threw _himself_ in front of Cornelia’s blade. The slash, intended for Dedue’s neck, caught him across the face instead. He screamed, dropping his lightsaber, his hands instinctively covering the burned flesh around his eyes. 

Vaguely, through the darkness and the pain, he heard Cornelia laughing. “I knew it! I knew you still couldn’t let go. Hold on, sweet; I’ll finish _you_ off in a moment; but first, you’ll get to hear your friends’ final screams…” 

He didn’t see Dedue move, but he felt it; then heard the _crack_ of Dedue’s armored first connecting with the back of Cornelia’s head. 

“You will not touch them,” Dedue said, voice hoarse, yet unwavering. 

“You… you Force-Blind _worm_ , how dare you-” 

Dimitri felt her forming her next attack, but it would never connect. How dare she attempt to hurt Dedue? He let that righteous indignation flow through him and out of his outstretched hand - a push of Force, strong enough to knock Cornelia off her feet. 

She didn’t try again. He could hear her turning tail and fleeing, cursing his name under her breath. 

“Your Highness!” Dedue’s strong arms were around him, helping him to his feet. “You saved me. For a moment, I thought…” 

Felix, Sylvain, and Ingrid were soon in front of him, too; he still couldn’t see them, but he could feel them. Felix was still furious, forcing Dimitri’s hands away from his eyes, then clicking his tongue in disgust. “The rancor’s gone _blind_.” 

He realized the truth the moment Felix vocalized it. Cornelia’s saber had carved straight through both of his eyes, ruining them beyond repair. 

“A fitting punishment for how I’ve behaved,” Dimitri murmured. He wasn’t angry anymore; he just felt so very _tired_ , disgusted with how he’d acted these past two years, and- 

Felix slapped him across the face. “Oh, shut up and stop _wallowing_. Are you coming back to Faerghus or not?” 

“I’m useless to you now. I’m still too weak, and I-” 

“He’s coming,” Felix decided, clearly fed up with all this. “The old man and the other nobles need their damn figurehead.” 

“I’ll, uh… I’ll give Byleth a call on our way home.” Sylvain was clearly trying not to laugh - not that Dimitri could see anything _funny_ about this. He’d failed completely at both being a Jedi and being a Sith, tried to kill his only friends in the whole Galaxy… and here they were, still loyal, still willing to extend a hand towards him. 

“Of course we are,” Ingrid said aloud, after reading his thoughts; and Dimitri realized, with a start, that those old Force bonds he’d thought destroyed were still intact. They were still connected, the four of them, and his dip down the Dark Side hadn’t ended that connection. “You’re our _friend_.” 

“Unfortunately,” Felix groused. “No, Sylvain, _you_ carry him.”

“Why me? Look at the state of my leg!”

“Walk it off, idiot. And don’t hold back next time.” 

“I’m grateful you held back, actually,” Dimitri said. “I noticed several points where you might have done me serious harm.”

He couldn’t see Sylvain’s crooked grin as the other man put Dimitri’s arm around his shoulders, but he could just _feel_ it: “Don’t mention it. What else are friends for?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Well that was fast. But it's another setting thing: the idea of Dimitri being an active Sith for 5 years without anyone finding him, with the tools and technology they have, just doesn't work. 
> 
> * Not just one lost eye, but two! Star Wars loves the blind martial artist aesthetic, obviously, so we have a lot of info on what it'll be like for hin.


	23. One Week Later

**Balmorra**

Balmorra was a high-value target for the Sith; it was the location of one of the Republic’s larger arms factories. The ‘Death Knight’ and his forces were dispatched to take it, and with no Jedi in the field to oppose them, that factory fell quickly. Now the Republic would need to establish a new supply line, diverting precious time and resources from other fronts.

When her brother’s fight was over, Mercedes’ began. She established her usual field hospital and set to work. Her team was one of the largest in the Adrestian forces, and she needed every one of them. Unlike most of the Sith medical corps, she triaged patients regardless of the emblem on their uniform. If an Adrestian soldier had a less serious wound, she made them wait as she saved a Republic soldier’s life.

It wasn’t _expressly_ against Darth Arundel’s orders, exactly, but the other Sith in the army were never happy about it. And apparently they’d reached a breaking point. 

Two of them barged into the surgery section. The commander of the Republic’s planetary garrison was under the knife now. His odds of surviving weren’t great even before the possible introduction of an infection.

Mercedes blocked them from entering, pitching her voice low. She didn’t let her fear show - she knew Sith and knew that it would simply encourage them. “I must ask that you leave. The surgery is in progress-” 

“Who cares? He’s the enemy,” one of them sneered. “We don’t take prisoners.” 

“You may not, but I have,” she said, with a confidence she didn’t feel. 

“Just because you’re _his_ sister doesn’t mean you can get away with this,” the other Sith said. They were terrified of Jeritza’s other persona - everyone in their army was - but without his presence, it seemed they were ready to throw their weight around.

Mercedes knew her brother needed time to adjust after the fighting. Becoming the Death Knight wasn’t easy for him, and if she interrupted his post-battle meditation, he might not be able to pull himself out of it. Still, the two Sith before her were intent on violence against her patient - that much was clear.

She made the call on her communicator. 

“Just so I get this straight, what do you intend to do with my patient?” 

“Not _save his life_ ,” the first Sith sneered. “Maybe torture him a little, I’m bored. Kill him slowly, _obviously_ , for daring to defy us-” 

“That’s interesting. Please continue,” a voice said from Mercedes’ comm. Mercedes hid a small smile as she lifted it to reveal the holographic form of Edelgard, arms crossed over her chest.

The two Sith blanched. “My lord-” 

Holo-Edelgard lifted a hand, and both Sith’s hands flew to their throats, scrabbling for breath as she choked them. “Did I not give _express_ instructions that Mercedes is in charge of all medical decisions? Did you _intend_ to defy me directly? Or are you simply so stupid that you assumed I did not mean what I said?” 

She didn’t wait for an answer. Eventually, when the two Sith were mere seconds from dying on the spot, she let them go. 

“Consider that a reminder,” Edelgard snapped. “The next time you defy me, I will show no mercy.” 

The two Sith retreated, with many a bow and scrape. 

“Thank you,” Mercedes said, letting some of the tension run out of her shoulders. “I didn’t mean to bother you, but…” 

“I’m glad you did. It is troubling to see that my orders are being ignored. As we draw closer to the Republic’s final defeat, those cowardly Sith grow ever bolder.” Edelgard grimaced into the communicator on her end. “I want you and your brother to return to Adrestia when you can. The situation is growing critical.” 

The situation - never spoken of openly, but Mercedes was no fool. She’d only agreed to join the Sith forces when Edelgard made it clear that she could treat patients from both sides. It had been a long conversation, and Edelgard had been very careful, but it was clear that she was unhappy with the way Darth Arundel ran things. Mercedes soon realized she was speaking with ‘the Revanite’ herself. That Edelgard would turn on Arundel the moment she could. 

Helping Edelgard from within might be the best way she could save the rest of her friends while still supporting her brother; and so, she’d remained. These two years had been interminable, but it seemed that the moment was fast approaching, whether Edelgard was fully prepared or not. The Republic wouldn’t last much longer, and when it fell, Arundel would be untouchable. 

“We’ll be there soon,” she promised. 

* * *

**Leicester**

Two Jedi Knights stopped on Leicester on their way to Faerghus, needing to refuel - and to work out the diplomatic niceties required to travel without being harassed by Claude’s small army of “privateers.” When he heard _which_ two, the Duke wasted no time in arriving at the spaceport to greet them personally. 

“This is practically a class reunion!” Claude said, smiling broadly. “I didn’t realize you were in the area, Master, Sir.” 

Seteth and Byleth were poor liars. Oh, nothing showed on their carefully neutral expressions, but that in itself was the problem. Claude could always spot when someone was holding back, even if he couldn’t tell _what_ they held back. 

“Just passing through,” Seteth said eventually. “We’re grateful for the hospitality.” 

“Of course, of course. Passing through to… Faerghus, I assume? I thought you were all tirelessly searching for Grandmaster Rhea.” 

“You know, as well as we, that Rhea is either dead - or a prisoner on Adrestia,” Byleth said shortly. “There’s no sign of her anywhere else in the System.” 

“I’ve always assumed as such,” Claude agreed. “But you kept searching. We could’ve used you on the front lines, you know.” 

“Well, we needed to see for ourselves,” Seteth said grimly. “Perhaps we _will_ join the war, but we must study the situation carefully.” 

“Hence heading to Faerghus to check out our dear prince’s mental state. You couldn’t, in good faith, overthrow the Adrestian Sith just to swap them out for Faerghan Sith.” 

Byleth sighed. “Is it even worth trying to hide information from you?” 

“Generally, no. I have eyes and ears all over the System,” Claude said, grinning. “Eyes and ears that were instrumental in retrieving him, by the way.” 

“Faerghus owes you its thanks, then,” Seteth said evenly. “Very well; I admit, that is where we are headed, and why. Dimitri’s return is not yet public knowledge - nor will it be, until we’ve assured ourselves we are not replacing one Sith Lord with another.” 

Claude tapped a finger to his chin. “What happens if you show up, he’s Fallen, but Faerhgus is fully behind him and ready to jump into the war? They’re very… chivalrous, you know.” 

Seteth and Byleth exchanged another significant look. Byleth said: “I assume you’re bringing that up because you have a… suggestion.” 

“Bring me and my fellow former-students along,” he said quickly. “Leicester wants the same reassurances, and the Roundtable nobles will trust what their heirs tell them. Plus, if the situation turns… nasty, you could use the backup.” 

“You’re willing to strike down Dimitri if you have to?” Byleth asked bluntly. Seteth winced, but didn’t protest - now _that_ was interesting. Were these two envoys willing to become assassins, if necessary? A potential suicide mission.

Claude’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to bring peace back to the System.” 

“Very well,” Seteth said, heaving another sigh. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt.” 

“You say that now, but wait until you’ve had to watch Lorenz buddying up to his fellow nobles. Insufferable, I tell you.” 

Neither of them laughed. Claude supposed, under the circumstances, he couldn’t blame them. 

* * *

**Faerghus**

The council of nobles wasn’t treating Dimitri as their prince so much as a ticking time bomb. There was no fanfare about his return, no coronation ceremony; instead, he was quickly, and quietly, carried off to a rural estate belonging to the royal family. He lacked for nothing, but it was clearly a prison. 

Dimitri didn’t mind. He didn’t trust _himself_ , either. Saving Dedue’s life had saved him from himself, but that was temporary. How long until the siren call of the Dark Side pulled at him again? Was he strong enough to resist it?

He genuinely did not know. He was afraid to find out.

Dedue, Felix, Sylvain, and Ingrid did not leave his side, serving as his jailors - and his companions. They were soon joined by Annette, dispatched straight from the capital on an urgent mission of friendship. Captain Ashe was on standby to provide for anything he needed. It was a comfortable sort of prison, really.

 _Better than I deserve_. 

Rodrigue visited once. It was an exceedingly awkward meeting. Dimitri had just been told there was no hope whatsoever of restoring his sight. Cornelia’s blade had destroyed his optic nerves so completely that there was nothing to implant cybernetics into. 

“Not only am I liable to Fall at a moment’s notice, but I’ll never see again,” he’d joked, forcing something approaching a smile. “I’m sorry you’ve waited so long for such a poor excuse for a King.” 

“None of that matters,” Rodrigue had said, even though it was the only thing that mattered. He pulled Dimitri into a quick hug. “I’m just glad you’re alive.” 

“Don’t. Stop touching me. I tried to kill-” 

“Felix. I know. It’s not my place to forgive you for it - you’ll have to work it out with him.” He could hear the smile in Rodrigue’s voice. “It’s taken a while, but I’m starting to know better than to tell him how he should feel.”

Part of him wanted to push his friends further away - spare them having to deal with someone as evil and horrible as he. But another part - the part that _had_ actually listened to some of the things Knight Byleth taught them - recognized this for what it was. Selfishness. If he did that, he’d be making the decision for them. Telling them that they couldn’t be trusted to take their own risks. 

And so, even though it was difficult, he joined three of them on the grounds of the estate. It was the dawn of his eighth day here - he couldn’t see the sun rise, but he could tell from the sensation of warmth on his skin. 

Dedue was inside, taking one of his rare breaks - Dimitri suspected Annette might have had the medics sedate him. That was good; he owed much more of an apology to his ever-loyal bodyguard, and still needed time to marshal his thoughts. 

He could feel his way through instinct and memory, but tripped on an unanticipated obstacle - an exposed tree-root. They caught him before he hit the ground. Felix clicked his tongue: “Stop acting so damn _proud_ , already.” 

“I’m sorry,” he said, reflexive and meaningless; then he sighed. “I did come here to apologize, but I know my words are empty and unwanted. You risked so much to bring me home, and I must prove that I was worth your time.” 

A finger jabbed his chest - probably Felix. “So polite. Tell me, which is your true face? This polite prince - or the beast that craved blood?” 

“Felix,” Ingrid chided, but Dimitri waved a hand to silence her, and answered: “They are both the real me. But I know the beast, the Darkness… I am in no position to let it make my decisions. I know I’ll feel its sway for the rest of my life. Every time I lose my temper, it will be calling to me - but I _must_ not give in.” 

“See that you don’t,” Felix said, though there was less bite in his voice than before. “I won’t hesitate to cut you down.” 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” A voice, directly into Dimitri’s ear. “You two are gonna be the death of me. Heh. Get it?” 

_Glenn?_ He thought, not daring to speak. What if this was another delusion? Surely, the ghosts he’d been seeing _must_ have been false… it was clear now, that they’d been tricks to lure him down a dark path. 

“It’s complicated, and I don’t want to explain it more than once. Here - you’re gonna have to learn to see again by yourself, but I can help you out for a bit.” He felt the sensation of a hand touching his empty and mangled eye sockets, and suddenly, Dimitri _could_ see - sort of. No details or features, but everything had an outline, and he could ‘see’ the Force within things, flowing between things.

And in front of him… a blue, ghostly silhouette that could only belong to Glenn Fraldarius. Unlike his other appearances, he was not stained with blood; and he radiated calm acceptance, instead of crying for vengeance and death.

“It’s you! The _real_ you,” Dimitri whispered.

In front of him, Sylvain laughed nervously. “Uh, are you okay there?” 

“Let them see me,” Glenn said, and Dimitri obeyed. It was simple enough to share his new mode of sight within their four-way Force connection.

His friends’ reaction was immediate. Sylvain was the loudest, not bothering to hide the gasp, the sharp intake of breath. Ingrid clapped a hand to her mouth. Felix said nothing at all, his shoulders tensing, his hands clenched into fists.

“What’s up,” Glenn said, and Dimitri couldn’t see his face in any detail... but he was _so_ obviously smirking that familiar Glenn smirk that Dimitri’s heart clenched. 

“Are you serious? You’ve _actually_ seen ghosts this whole time?” Sylvain ran a hand through his hair, rubbed the back of his neck - did anything but stand still, overflowing with nervous energy. “You were really talking to Glenn!?” 

“Sort of,” Glenn explained. “Dead Jedi don’t tend to linger. I was good and ready to pass on to… well, whatever is next. Cornelia stopped me, chained me with her Sith sorcery.” He raised his wrists. Hints of red, violent and angry, still flowed in his mostly-blue aura. “Then her fun began. Using me - and the King and Queen - as her puppets, filling Dimitri’s head with lies.” 

Dimitri dropped his eyes to the ground. “I should have known that was not your true voice. I’ve insulted you terribly, Glenn; I apologize for-” 

“For fuck’s sake,” Felix snarled. “I could’ve _told_ you-” 

Force Ghosts, it turned out, could interact with the material world - at least enough for Glenn to grab both of their heads and push them together, the way he had when they were kids. He laughed, rich and genuine, when he let them go, Dimitri wincing, Felix swearing. 

“You could have, if you two had stopped to _talk_ for each other for a minute instead of wallowing in your… your… teenage angst,” he managed to say, between snorts of laughter. “Felix, you _knew_ I died without regrets - sorry you had to feel that, by the way, but come _on_ , little brother, you didn’t think to mention that to Dimitri? And _you_ -” He jabbed a finger in the prince’s chest. “Yeah, you should’ve known better. We _loved_ you. We never would’ve been so selfish as to demand your life belong to us.” 

“I’m sorry,” Dimitri muttered again, while Felix only scowled. 

“I gotta tell you, the worst part about hanging around has been watching you two morons interact with each other,” Glenn said, though it was clearly an affectionate label. “Dimitri, you’re right - the Dark Side will always call to you, and yeah, you won’t always be strong enough to resist it completely. But _real_ strength is trusting your friends. They’ll always be here for you, and Felix sure as shit isn’t afraid to tell you if you’re going too far. Just listen to them, and you’re gonna be okay.” 

He patted Dimitri on the shoulder, then turned to Felix: “You’re always gonna be there for him. It doesn’t _have_ to be how it was for our old man and Lambert- you know, respectful and shit. You can be the King’s right-hand man, his Shield, and still push him.” 

“Yeah, well, he clearly needs it,” Felix muttered.

“I don’t have long enough to give you a proper spar, but for what it’s worth, you’re better than I ever was. You don’t have to keep chasing my ghost.”

“You’re just saying that,” his brother said, voice thick with unshed tears. For all his valiant efforts, he wasn’t fooling any of them, and he didn’t resist when the ghostly Glenn pulled him into a hug. Sylvain, Ingrid, and eventually Dimitri joined in, like they had when they were kids, back when Felix would welcome it instead of snapping at them to leave him alone.

He didn’t snap at them this time.

Several minutes later, by mutual agreement, they broke apart. Glenn turned his smile to Ingrid. “Hope you don’t let seeing me again slow you down. I think you and I would’ve found happiness, but you deserve better than an arranged marriage, you know? You’re a damn good Jedi Knight - let that come first, no matter what your father says.” 

She nodded, determined as ever, and smiled back: “Thank you. I’ll remember that.” 

“Last - but not least-” 

Glenn rounded on Sylvain, who lifted his hands in preemptive surrender: “I know, I know - if I hurt him, you’ll come back to haunt me?” 

“No way,” Glenn laughed. “I just wanted to wish you happiness. First: he’s more than capable of killing you himself. Second: I’ve no desire to come back. Hanging around like this is… painful. Just this constant ache that won’t go away. I’m not supposed to be here. The Force, or whatever, it’s letting me set you guys straight. Balancing out what Cornelia did. But my time’s just about up. It’s time to move on.”

He touched Dimitri’s shoulder again. “I’m not the only one, either. The King and Queen… I’ll show you to them, before I go. They’d like to see you one last time.”

Dimitri took Glenn’s hand and stumbled after him. He hadn’t dared to hope he’d ever speak with his father and stepmother again… _really_ speak to them, not the false spirits Cornelia had tormented him with. For all the evil he’d done, the Force was too kind to him. 

Behind him, he heard Felix’s voice: “What was Glenn talking about, ‘if you hurt him’? Sylvain? _Sylvain_ , answer me!” 

“Idiot,” Glenn said affectionately, and Dimitri had to laugh. It was all too ridiculous. “Hey, tell my old man he owes me a thousand credits.” 

“You _bet_ on whether Felix and Sylvain would…?” 

“Yep - and I won! Have him spend it on their wedding. Some ridiculously sweet, frilly cake that Felix will hate. ‘To my baby brother, from Glenn.’” 

“I’ll see to it. You have my word.” 

Glenn sighed, a long and very tired sound. “It’s finally time. I don’t think you’ll ever see me again, Dimitri - but I’ll always be with you. I know you’ll make me proud. You’ll make all of us proud,” he added, gesturing to the clearing ahead.

When Dimitri looked up, Glenn was gone - vanishing back into the Force with no fanfare. But two other outlines had appeared just in front of him. Lambert and Patricia - the _real_ Lambert and Patricia, soft and smiling. 

“Thank you, Glenn,” he whispered, and stumbled forward into their ghostly embrace. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Ghost Glenn was one of those scenes that I had planned out from the beginning. In this set-up, the call of the dark side itself is what Dimitri will always have to struggle with, not the seeing dead people part... since Force Ghosts in Star Wars are very much a thing. 
> 
> * This is now officially my longest fic! It's way more self-indulgent than the minor changes in the Deer Without a Heart AU, so I really appreciate those who are reading and commenting :)


	24. One Month Later

**Faerghus**

The situation was both better and worse than Claude expected. Better - because Dimitri and everyone who managed to retrieve him survived, which was no small feat. Worse - because he’d been injured pretty badly, and Faerghus still wasn’t quite sure what to do about him. They'd certainly been waiting and watching, making sure Dimitri was actually better, instead of holding the coronation ceremony and handing him absolute power with few strings attached. 

Seteth and Byleth immediately started training him, no judgments given and questions asked. After a couple weeks, Dimitri could walk around without assistance. He wouldn’t be ready to actually fight for a while, though Claude thought that was probably for the best. Nobody wanted him out in the field until he’d shown he could control his Dark impulses.

For now, the entire Leicester delegation, and all the Jedi Knights, stayed in Dimitri’s rural estate-slash-prison. The war wouldn’t wait forever, but the break was nice. Old friends from both sides get a chance to catch up. The dinners were almost as lively as they were back at the Enclave - and with Ashe and Dedue handling the cooking, a lot tastier. 

“The Roundtable isn’t happy,” Lorenz sighed. He finally managed to drag Claude away out into the estate grounds to lecture him about politics, to Claude’s despair. 

“You mean your _father_ isn’t happy,” Claude said, though his tone was mild. Lorenz had been a better ally than Claude expected at first. Over the past couple years, the younger Gloucester gained a genuine respect for the man he’d once seen as an ill-behaved interloper; and unlike his father, the war made him realize that they had much bigger problems. 

“He suspects that you were hiding the Prince somewhere, ready to produce him the moment we were desperate enough to sign the treaty with Almyra.” 

“He’s giving me _way_ too much credit. Though I admit, that would’ve been a good idea. I might’ve even done it, if Dimitri became my prisoner.” 

Lorenz rolled his eyes, not realizing that Claude wasn't joking. “It’s an unhinged conspiracy theory, ill-befitting of a true noble. I am afraid my father’s… his, ah…” 

“Virulent racism?” Claude supplied with a smirk.

“ _P_ _rejudices_ ,” Lorenz said gently, “have led him astray. But I wanted to talk to you - and warn you that he doesn’t intend to let the matter lie.” He twisted a few fingers into his over-long hair, a nervous tic that Claude might mock him for later. 

“Marianne,” Claude guessed, unable to hide the scowl on his face. She’d eventually confided her so-called shameful secret to him. Margrave Edmund had adopted her, they all knew that, but the Margrave had been careful to conceal that his chosen heir wasn’t actually human. She was a Kage, and like Claude, she’d just been passing as human on a planet that couldn’t tell the difference.

He wished he could wave away her internalized self-hatred overnight. Edmund wasn’t the sort of racist that Gloucester was - he didn’t hate his adopted daughter for what she was, and he’d been open-minded enough so select her for her strength in the Force above her species. But he’d taught her to fear and be ashamed of her own heritage, because he knew how the rest of the Roundtable would react to an openly alien heir. 

It had only been a matter of time before Count Gloucester found out and tried to use that against Edmund. The Margrave voting with Claude on the Almyran treaty had been the final straw. 

“Unfortunately, yes… And Lystheia.” 

“Lystheia? You mean her Sith mind-control thing?” Claude had tried to keep it quiet. Lystheia could barely remember what she’d been forced to do when she’d turned up back on Leicester a few days after the Enclave fell (he wasn’t surprised that Edelgard had let her “escape” - she tended to stick to her word). Seeing as the compulsion was no longer present in his old classmate’s mind, Claude had respected her desire to let it stay buried… But he’d always thought it would come out eventually. 

Lorenz nodded glumly. “That, yes, but… he also made some excuse to administer a blood test. It seems the Ordelias were actually Echani this whole time - well, racially Echani, they don’t follow any of the traditions.”

“Huh. Who knew?” Even Claude hadn’t known, and that wasn’t something that happened every day. “Guess the white hair should’ve tipped us off.”

“Please take this seriously, Claude. He’s trying to destroy your faction at the Roundtable. When the people hear that _three_ of the five heirs have alien blood…” 

“... They’ll see that the thing they’ve been so afraid of _doesn’t matter_ ,” Claude said. “The Roundtable’s been humming along. We’ve kept the people safe during this war. We’ve even made a treaty with the hated Almyrans, and hey, look at that, the planet’s still spinning.” 

“I am on your side, Claude,” Lorenz said testily. And he was - it hadn’t been quick or easy, and Lorenz still said thoughtless and prejudiced things at times, but he was truly trying, which Claude could respect. “But your faith in the people may be… misplaced. For a thousand years, this System has been taught to fear aliens.” 

“These are extraordinary times. Old belief systems can fail quickly in times of crisis. Let your father do his worst - he’ll only tarnish his own reputation.”

Lorenz sighed. “I just hope you’re right.” 

Claude grinned. “Come on, you’ve watched me lead the Roundtable for two years. You know I’m always right.” 

“You are _sometimes_ right.” 

“Let’s compromise - almost always right.” 

Lorenz sniffed. “Thanks to _my_ expert and sage counsel.” 

“Sure,” Claude laughed, not having any interest in continuing the pissing match. Sometimes, a good leader let his subordinates have one. 

* * *

“You’re still thinking of it the wrong way,” Byleth lectured. “Force Sight is so much more than that. It doesn’t substitute for the eyes you’ve lost - it is an entirely different way of perceiving the galaxy. Let it use all of your senses, all of your instinct.” 

Dimitri sighed and rubbed at his shoulder, where the training probe droid had delivered a sharp stun-bolt, emphasizing his carelessness. 

“Don’t _see_ the attacks coming. _Know_ that they’re coming.” 

Byleth allowed himself a small smile during the next set. Dimitri was finally listening to him. Better late than never. Instead of watching for the next bolt, he was allowing the Force to warn him of it. He dodged the next several stun-bolts in this way, relying on instinct and intuition.

“Better,” Byleth said, deactivating the probe droid. “But you’re still holding back on me. You haven’t drawn your saber.” 

“I… I can’t,” Dimitri said, the shame written into his face. Byleth knew why; he couldn’t see the red blades directly, but he could feel the _wrongness_ in the crystal itself. Dimitri had led the weapon down a dark, corrupt path, and was clearly reluctant to expose his shame. 

He didn’t have a choice when, without warning, Byleth activated his own saber and slashed at Dimitri’s neck. Reflexively, he snapped one of the blades to life, blocking the Knight’s attack just in time. 

“I see,” was all Byleth said. He deactivated his weapon and held out a hand, a wordless offer. Dimitri took it, handing over his saber. 

“Not one of the artificial, lifeless crystals the Sith often use,” the Knight said, after he’d examined the weapon for a moment. “It is the same crystal you selected on Ilum, but you’ve made it bleed. Very interesting. How did you do that?” 

“I don’t really know,” Dimitri admitted. “I had so much hatred inside me… and I let it corrupt everything about me, even the crystal itself.” 

“This is completely unheard of,” Byleth said. “It confirms that the crystals are more ‘alive’ than even the Jedi suspected. Yes… _very_ interesting.” 

“One more living thing that has suffered at my hands, then,” the prince said glumly. “One more sin on my conscience.” 

“If you corrupted it, it follows that you can heal it, no? Perhaps you must ask for the crystal to forgive you.” 

“Just like that.” Dimitri didn’t hide the skepticism in his voice.

“You’re obviously not ready, but when the time comes, yes. Start by forgiving yourself for what you did to Dedue,” Byleth said, because damn it, he was a _teacher_ , and he was going to lead Dimitri through this if it killed him.

“I _can’t_. It’s so much worse than what I did to the others. He put complete faith in me, his life into my hands, and I…” 

“You hurt him. Badly. You’re afraid to face him,” Byleth said. He wasn’t angry, but his voice wasn’t gentle, either. Dimitri winced as if he’d been struck. “Fear can lead you back to the Dark Side as surely as your anger and hatred did. You must face your fear.” 

Dimitri sighed, but Byleth stepped up to him and reached up (when had the kid gotten so tall?) to put a hand on his shoulder. The Knight smiled. “You’ve been doing very well. I know your heart is in the right place. You’re very close to being able to take the throne - and fight this war in the right way, for the right reasons.”

“Once I face my fear.” 

“And face your guilt. And heal the crystal.”

“You truly think it _can_ be healed?” 

“No-one, nothing, is ever completely gone,” Byleth said firmly. “I believe it can be healed. Do you?” 

Dimitri nodded. “Yes, I think... Yes, I’ll try.” 

“You won’t try,” the Knight admonished him. “When you ‘try,’ you allow yourself room to fail. Say instead that you’ll succeed.” 

The prince managed the ghost of a smile. “You’re a very good teacher. Has anyone told you that?” 

“Occasionally.” 

Perhaps, Byleth mused, the Force _had_ been working through Rhea when she’d called him back to teach at the Enclave, after all. Guiding these kids past their own mistakes, drawing out their full potential… it was all very satisfying, in a way the battlefield hadn’t been. 

Not that he could avoid the battlefield much longer. Their window to strike back against Arundel was drawing near. Hopefully, Dimitri would be ready in time. 

* * *

**Adrestia**

Edelgard heard about Dimitri from her expected source. Constance hadn’t made any secret of the fact that she’d once worked for the SIS, and didn’t argue when her House’s royal sponsor, the new Queen of Adrestia, suggested that she keep in touch with those old acquaintances. 

It was equally plain that the SIS thought they were using Constance against her - but that was no matter. Hubert was managing dozens of double agents across the Galaxy. It was a simple matter to make sure Lady Nuvelle could only learn things that they _wanted_ her to learn. 

Constance swept into her office, all covert side-glances and stage-whispers. She was really, truly, terrible at this. Edelgard fought to hide her smile as Constance breathlessly informed her that a new _game update_ had been released and she should really think about logging on and playing the latest patch.

Once she was alone again, Edelgard pulled out her datapad and did as instructed. The online version of holo-chess allowed for custom matches, and her typical opponent was waiting for her to accept his challenge. Just as she’d expected. 

_Flame_Emperor accepts the challenge!_

_Master_Tactician’s move._

As always, she rolled her eyes at the self-aggrandizing username. As she waited for Claude to make his move, she typed into the game’s chat box.

 _Flame_Emperor says:_ What do you think about the new balance patch?

 _Master_Tactician says:_ looks interesting. knights were really screwed on the last one. nerfed the **** out of their offense. 

_Flame_Emperor says:_ Yes, I believe their stats were adjusted. It should open up more aggressive strategies.

 _Master_Tactician says_ : gonna take time for players to adjust. u know how it goes. 

_Flame_Emperor says:_ Indeed.

 _Flame_Emperor says:_ But if players are not careful, their opponents will anticipate the meta shift and prepare a counter for it. 

_Master_Tactician says:_ we’ll see. movement buff is gr8. wait 4 ur opponent to over extend and then loop ur knights around the back.

 _Flame_Emperor says:_ It would be most advantageous if one waits for the other player to move their Senator out of the starting position. 

_Master_Tactician says:_ like this? 

She scowled, realizing that Claude has her in checkmate. The game was secondary - an excuse to speak anonymously - but neither of them could turn it off, and played each match through to completion. 

_Flame_Emperor says:_ Good game. We should play again before long. 

_Master_Tactician says:_ gg. could do 3 weeks. 

Three more weeks to get Faerhgus’ forces into the field? It wasn’t ideal - they’d already been waiting a month for Dimitri to recover. In that time, Arundel drew ever closer to encircling Coruscant itself. On the other hand… the more he extended his forces in the Core Worlds, the more devastating it would be when Adrestia itself came under serious attack. He’d be even more exposed to Edelgard’s counter-move. 

_Flame_Emperor says:_ 3 weeks it is. See you then.

 _Master_Tactician says:_ looking forward to it ;) 

Edelgard sighed and closed out of the game without sending a response. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Lorenz is a good, if long-suffering, boi.
> 
> * All of this stuff about turning kyber crystals red by making them "bleed" is canon, and what happened to Kylo Ren's (and the Inquisitors if you played Fallen Order or watched Rebels). In Legends, the Sith red came from artificial crystals. I actually like both ideas, so I had Byleth reference the latter while Dimitri is something of a pioneer in the former.


	25. Three Weeks Later

**Coruscant**

“Going somewhere, Senator?” Yuri asked sweetly. His smile - a smirk, really - didn’t begin to reach his eyes.

Aelfric was caught red-handed, and they both knew it. He stopped dead, halfway up the ramp of his escape shuttle, and turned back to face Yuri, running one hand nervously through his hair. “I… I thought I might take a vacation. A pleasure cruise…” 

“In the middle of a war, with Coruscant itself threatened by the Sith? Have to say, I don’t think much of your priorities.” 

Yuri took one step closer, still smirking, and was gratified to see the Senator flinch. Aelfric’s eyes darted this way and that, clearly hoping his expensive bodyguards would show up to rescue him from this indignity. 

“They’ve got their hands full with Balthus,” the spy explained. Behind him, right on cue, a window shattered, and someone ( _not_ Balthus) screamed. 

“Yuri… Please, you don’t have to do this. Don’t you have any loyalty to me?” 

“For plucking me off the street? I haven’t forgotten that, Senator. I volunteered to be the one to collar you - you’re a traitor, but not a bad guy, I suppose, and you deserved to be taken alive. But don’t mistake me,” Yuri continued, ranging ever-closer to Aelfric, hand on the butt of his blaster, “I’m doing that for my sake, mostly. I wanted to see you in cuffs with my own eyes.” 

Aelfric gave a nervous laugh, pushing loose hair out of his eyes. “Traitor? I have no idea what you’re talking about.” (It was a bad acting job - he wouldn’t have fooled a rookie agent, let alone Yuri). 

“The game’s up, Senator. As you know, the entire list of Sith agents within the Republic was posted to the HoloNet. Guess one of our people on Adrestia pulled it off, somehow.” Yuri was pretty sure who’d given Constance that list: Edelgard herself, finally making the opening moves in her gambit against Darth Arundel. 

“Even _if_ you got off-world, the Republic would put a price on your head so big that you’d have nowhere to run. And they wouldn’t be so picky about ‘dead or alive,’ so again - you might as well come with me, quick and quiet,” he added. 

Another step, another flinch from his one-time savior and guardian. 

Another man might have been hurt, but Yuri’s life had never been easy. He’d learned - the hard way - that today’s friend could easily become tomorrow’s enemy. There were only three people in the whole Galaxy that he _really_ trusted, and part of that was how they’d all agreed to be so open with each others’ thoughts, dropping the customary mental Force defenses. Even then, it had taken years of the cell’s operations for him to sleep soundly at night. 

He’d always known Aelfric was hiding some Force talent, but he’d thought it was to get some advantage in politics. Reading the minds of his opposing fellow Senators, or something like that; it wasn’t Yuri’s business. Still, he hadn’t been _surprised_ to see Aelfric’s name on the list, just… resigned, because yeah, the Galaxy might as well deal him another shit hand.

Aelfric clearly wasn’t the top Sith of the food chain. When he finally launched lightning from his hand, it was so obvious that a child could’ve dodged it. Yuri did, and heaved a sigh as he drew and fired his blaster. Just once. A stun bolt right between Aelfric’s eyes; the Senator fell and rolled down the ramp of his own ship, senseless. 

Balthus chose that moment to appear, cracking his knuckles. “We’re all clear. Aww, hell - that list was right, wasn’t it?” 

“Yep.” Yuri nudged Aelfric with one boot, but he wasn’t faking it; he was truly out. “Guess he was a traitor all along.” 

“I know he took you in when you were a kid. That’s, uh… that’s rough, buddy,” Balthus said eventually, once the silence got too awkward for him.

Yuri snorted, amused in spite of himself. It was just so _Balthus._ “Come on - let’s take him in and keep going. Lots of names on this list, so little time…” 

“We could always turn him over to the Hutts instead,” Balthus said, a little too eager. “They’d pay better.”

“Not Aelfric,” Yuri said immediately, because he knew how the Hutts treated their prisoners, and he wasn’t gonna do that to the guy. Traitor or not, he'd done Yuri a good turn - he deserved a comfortable Republic cell, not torture. That said... “Any others we bag? Knock yourself out.” 

“You got it, boss!” 

* * *

**Adrestia**

“What is the _meaning_ of this?” Arundel hissed, murder in his eyes.

Hubert did not scare easily, but only a fool could stare down a Sith and not think of how many different ways that Sith might kill him without exerting much effort. Usually, he protected Lord Edelgard, but right now she was the only thing standing between him and the full wrath of her powerful, dangerous ‘uncle.’ 

He’d known the risks when he agreed to her plan, though. He did his part: not snapping back, casting his eyes downwards. “I don’t know how they obtained the information, my lord. I am deeply sorry.” 

“You should be,” Arundel snarled, and Hubert felt the air rush out of his lungs as the Sith began to choke him. “This is what we get for giving Force-Blind fools high positions within Intelligence…” 

The Force-Sensitive Count Varley hadn’t been smart enough to realize that Hubert and Constance had stolen the list of agents right from under his nose, Hubert thought, but didn’t say. Arundel’s open contempt for the Force-Blind was the only thing that had a chance of saving his life in this particular moment. 

Edelgard played on it now. “He’s beneath you, my lord,” she said, not even looking at Hubert as he kicked and writhed. “Let me deal with him. I promise that I will make his torment slow… and painful.” 

Arundel nodded and sent Hubert crashing to the ground with a flick of his wrist. “I imagine you are more furious than I. After all, he was your little project, proof that the Blind can competently serve…” 

She sneered and inclined her head. When Hubert stood, she pointed a finger at him. A jolt of lightning threw him to the ground; he choked down a scream at the pain. (No acting, there - it genuinely _hurt_ ). “I should have listened to you.” 

It rang so false to Hubert’s ears - false humility was not Edelgard’s strong suit. But Arundel was like so many powerful men, Sith or no - he was arrogant, and heard what he wanted to hear. 

“We need not concern ourselves with… repeat incidents. From this moment forth, only Sith will command Intelligence and the military, under my _direct_ supervision.”

The idiot thought it was a master-stroke. And it was - for Edelgard. Arundel had been back on Adrestia for an hour, and he was doing exactly what she’d predicted: stripping the Force-Blind of any authority, treating them as mere servants to the glory of the Sith. Hubert’s agents had spent the last year whispering warnings to the top brass in the military command, priming them for this very moment.  
  
He was setting the stage for a Fleet-wide mutiny, because every ship commander knew that it didn’t have to be this way. Under Edelgard’s rule, they’d been more than Sith slaves. They’d had the chance to rise on their own merits. When she issued orders that contradicted the Darth’s, their choice would be clear. 

“A wise decision, my lord,” Edelgard was saying. Her face betrayed no hint of the triumph that she must be feeling. Arundel hadn’t walked into the trap - he’d sprinted headlong into it, and he still didn’t see it. 

“Assemble the Dark Council. We must decide how to punish Cornelia for her failure - and we must prepare Adrestia’s defenses.”   
  
“It will be done,” Edelgard said, and she bowed, maintaining the bow until Arundel swept out of the room. Only then did she help Hubert to his feet. 

“You’re hurt. Go and see Mercedes,” she insisted.

“It was nothing I haven’t experienced before,” Hubert said, which was true enough. Most of the Sith were not reluctant to Force their will upon their servants, and many had used him to make... statements... of how they felt about Edelgard. “We had to convince him of your contempt for me.”

“Nonetheless, you _will_ go see Mercedes.” It was an order, this time. “I won’t let you resume your duties until she informs me you are fit for them.” 

“As you command, my lord.” 

“Hubert,” Edelgard said, stopping him just before he left. Her voice was unusually quiet. “Thank you.” 

Just two words, but they spoke volumes. The depth of their devotion to one another usually went unsaid. This was a rare moment where her guard was down enough to admit that his admiration and respect was mutual. 

Hubert had watched for years, powerless and furious, as the Sith took her and all her siblings. They killed almost a dozen _children_ in their quest to create the perfect Sith heir. His father and the other nobles knew what was happening, but didn’t lift a finger to stop it. Well, he’d paid the elder Vestra back for that when she was crowned Queen - his father hadn’t lived past the coronation. 

The Edelgard that emerged from that Sith crucible, cold and determined, had captured his complete and utter loyalty. He was a true believer in her vision for the Galaxy, and would stop at nothing to help her accomplish it. It was worth any sacrifice, all of the pain. 

“You’re welcome,” Hubert murmured, and swept out of the room and towards the med-bay. 

* * *

**Faerghus**

“I don’t know about this,” Dimitri muttered, for the fifth time in the last hour. There’d been a minor delay to the coronation ceremony, which simply gave him more time to doubt whether he had the strength to go out there and face his people. 

The small chamber was crowded with his closest friends from the Enclave, plus Knight Byleth. Most of them would have formal roles to play in the upcoming ceremony, as well, and were too nervous (or annoyed, in Felix’s case) to pay him much mind. 

Byleth, of course, noticed. He always did. “What specifically are you feeling, Dimitri? Remember to vocalize and process it - not just suppress it.” 

Dimitri sighed as the Knight joined him in his corner of the chamber. At least if they were quiet enough, this conversation would stay between them. “I don’t feel as though I’m worthy of this. For many years, I was selfish - thinking of nothing but my own vengeance, doing nothing to help this planet. Don’t my people deserve better?” 

“Perhaps they do,” Byleth said, his mouth moving up into the hint of a smile. “But you are the sole heir to the throne. There is no other who can unite and protect Faerghus. If they deserve better, you will simply need to become better.” 

“What if I _can’t_ become better? What if I Fall again-” 

“Dimitri,” the Knight said, cutting him off gently but firmly. “We’ve discussed this. Every one of us runs that risk, but if you let these doubts rule you, it will become a self-fulfilling prophecy.” 

He sighed. “You’re right, of course. I don’t know what I’ll do when you go back to Garreg Mach and I am ruling alone.” 

“Not alone,” Byleth chided him. Blind as he was, he ran a hand over Dimitri’s formal cape and picked a loose thread away. “No king ever rules alone. You have competent advisors and good friends - and one or two who are both at once.” 

By his standards, it was a great joke. Dimitri managed a laugh.

Before he could say anything else, Rodrigue opened the door and beckoned for them to follow. This was it. Dimitri squared his shoulders and followed the Duke out of the chamber. Rodrigue paused for just a moment at the door out into the throne room. 

“I’m very proud of you, Your Majesty. Go on. The people are very eager to see you.” 

Dimitri swallowed and nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Stepping through that final door took an immense effort of will.

The reaction to his appearance was immediate, and overwhelming. He heard the cheers, but more importantly, he could feel it in the Force: the people were _happy_ to see him. They didn’t care that he was blind (rich and royal purple though his blindfold was, it was still unmistakable as an injury), or resent how he’d abandoned them for years.

Dimitri paused for several moments, struck and overwhelmed by the sensation. Then he felt Felix’s hand take his elbow and steer him forward. “You can cry later,” Felix grumbled. “We have to get through this boring ceremony first.” 

“Thank you,” he said, and both of them knew it was for more than Felix keeping him on track in that single moment. It was about all the moments before, and all the other moments to come. 

Master Seteth conducted the ceremony in Rhea’s absence. Dimitri could barely make out the words of the long speech, only focusing when Seteth indicated him directly. 

“People of Faerghus! I present to you King Dimitri the First. Do you accept him as your ruler?” 

There were more cheers, cries for the Force to protect him. Dimitri reached out to feel for one group in particular - Claude and the Leicester delegation, given prime seats in the front of the room. With everything that had been happening, he’d barely exchanged words with any of them, and there was one he wished to speak to above all others.

She felt his mental touch, gentle and hesitant, and she smiled. They didn’t exchange distinct words, but Marianne sent back a sensation of encouragement. More than the acceptance of his subjects, knowing that she didn’t hate him lifted his spirits. 

Seteth was speaking again: “Your Majesty, will you solemnly promise and swear to govern the people of Faerghus? Will you execute justice and mercy in all of your judgments? Will you follow the Light Side of the Force?”

He answered yes to all of those questions, and all the ones that followed. His voice was quiet at first, but grew in volume and confidence. 

Seteth nodded and held out a hand. Felix, as Dimitri’s closest advisor, stepped forward and handed the Jedi what he wanted: the would-be King’s lightsaber. Seteth was to activate the weapon in a ritual proof that it was no red-bladed Sith saber.

How many times had this ceremony been conducted as a matter of course? This might be the first time that it was deadly serious. Claude, and everyone else, was watching carefully to make damn sure that he’d recovered from his ordeal. 

Seteth snapped one side of the saber to life, followed by the other. The crowd gasped, and Dimitri felt that even Claude was a little surprised, when they saw the color of the blades: a pure and shining white. 

No other King or Queen had wielded a weapon of that color; but then, no other had fallen to the Dark Side, corrupted their kyber crystal beyond recognition, and subsequently healed it. It seemed that white was the result of all that. 

“May the Force itself direct and support its vessel, King Dimitri, that he may not bear this lightsaber in vain; but may use it as a true Jedi, for the protection of the weak,” Seteth intoned. He stepped forward and carefully deposited the weapon in Dimitri’s hands. 

“With this lightsaber in hand, may you do justice, protect the innocent, restore what has been broken, and faithfully serve the Will of the Force.” 

“I swear it,” he said. 

That was the moment where Dimitri truly felt at ease. Even the moment when Seteth placed the crown on his head did not equal the relief and joy he’d felt when the lightsaber activated, and was still purified and healed. It was a symbol of how far he’d managed to come in just a few weeks of recovery - though he still had plenty to go. 

The rest of the ceremony passed in a blur, until he was eventually seated on the throne. And that was not the end of this day, but only the beginning. Faerghus’ entire nobility would now come up to congratulate him and ask for his formal re-confirmation of their titles and office; the kind of ceremony that drove Felix mad, because the King was only expected to give one answer, and yet they insisted upon it anyway. 

Viscount Kleiman, last in the line of nobles, was the only one to give him pause. He came up to request a continuance of his governorship of Duscur, despite his massacre of their people and potential involvement in the regicide conspiracy. Smirking and confident that he would receive the traditional answer, that the King wouldn’t dare to break the protocol. 

“You may not,” Dimitri said, and the entire room fell into a shocked silence. 

“Your Majesty!” 

“You may not, because Duscur will no longer have a royal governor. We will return the rule of the moon to the survivors, and they will select their own ruler.” 

He shouldn’t have done it like that. He should’ve waited for a council meeting, heard official arguments from both sides, and played the political game. But Dimitri had a hard time considering it a _mistake_ , because it was the right thing to do. 

Kleiman was spluttering his indignation, but didn’t dare to contradict the King. He was led away, shaking with rage. He’d be a problem later. Perhaps an assassin in the night, or a defection to Adrestia with vital secrets…

As if sharing his thoughts, Felix leaned forward and whispered: “Say the word, and he doesn’t leave this room alive.” 

Dimitri shook his head. “No - not until we have proof. I don’t want to start my rule with wrath and revenge.” 

“Just political nightmares, got it,” Felix said, but there was little bite in it. He was obviously just as happy that the expected protocol had been shaken up, that Dimitri was starting his rule by taking a strong stand. 

Claude bounded up next to the throne and cleared his throat, cutting through the general murmuring. “As the sovereign Duke of Leicester, I formally recognize the independent status of Duscur, and will devote resources to its restoration.” 

“There,” he said quietly, so that only Dimitri could hear him. “They already hate me, let me take some of the heat.” 

Dimitri laughed and stood, shaking Claude’s hand with some enthusiasm. “I appreciate the help.” 

“It was worth it for the look on their faces - Ah, well, I guess you’ll have to imagine it, but trust me - it was good. Now, if you _really_ want to make a stir, you’ll join Leicester in its peace treaty with Almyra-” 

“We’ll consider that via our _traditional_ process,” Felix interjected firmly. “After the war.” 

Claude sighed. “Ah yes, that pesky Adrestian thorn in our side! Well, I’ll see you bright and early at our first war council meeting. But enough business - I hope you enjoy the feast tonight, Your Majesty. You know, it’s traditional to name a guest of honor, get all the nobles in a stir by picking so-and-so’s daughter over another...”

“He’s made up his mind already,” Felix said. “Now clear out so he can ask her.” 

“Er - what my advisor means is thank you, Claude, and I hope you enjoy yourself tonight as well,” Dimitri said. His face was already burning, but Claude didn’t prolong his torment, departing with a cheery wave. 

For all his grumbling, Felix was a true friend. He proved it then by somehow managing to clear the dais of everyone but the new King and Lady Marianne Edmund. And so, against all odds, on the busiest day of his life, Dimitri had a precious few minutes of privacy. 

And Claude was right - the nobles _were_ stirred when, later that night, she was his guest of honor at the great coronation feast. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all! This may be the only update this week. Work has been very busy for me and I haven't had as much time to write as I'd like. I like to write a few chapters ahead. If I do make a second update, it would probably be Friday instead of Thursday - depending on some projects etc. etc.
> 
> If you are in the U.S., I hope this chapter gives you something to read if you are in line to vote :)


	26. Adrestian Space

“You know I trust you, Claude,” the freshly-crowned King Dimitri said, in a tone that implied the complete opposite, “but are you sure about this?” 

It was a fair question. The combined fleets of Faerghus, Leicester, Almyra, and Garreg Mach were still dwarfed by the number of Adrestian ships protecting the planet. Claude’s rough estimate had them outnumbered 3 to 1. Even if the Republic was inclined to get off its ass and support their attack - which they weren’t - and even if reinforcements could arrive in time - which they couldn’t - the odds wouldn’t have looked good. 

As it was, the chances of their attack succeeding had settled somewhere around “impossible.” At least to those who didn’t have the knowledge Claude carried in his back pocket. 

He sighed and looked around the bridge of the allied forces’ command ship, an elite Faerghus vessel called the _King Loog_ . Trusting people, giving up information for free - neither of those things were in his nature, to say the least. But for this plan to work, he needed Dimitri and the others to support his idea - and that meant explaining why it was merely _bold_ rather than _suicidal_. 

“When we attack the Sith fleet, most of it will retreat, leaving Arundel’s flagship vulnerable. That will allow us to break through, board it, and kill him.” 

All eyes were on him. He sensed a range of emotions - skepticism, mostly. A couple people were impressed. Byleth’s face and aura were both unreadable. Felix thought he’d gone mad, and wasn’t making any effort to hide it. 

“I see,” Dimitri said carefully. “And how are you so certain of this?” 

“Edelgard, _obviously_ ,” Lysithea said. She’d been impatient all day - eager to get on with destroying the one who’d caused her and her family so much harm. (Claude didn’t think she was at risk of Falling over it - she was determined to prevent anyone else from suffering as she had, mostly). 

“What are you talking about?” Lorenz’s eyes looked like they’d bug out of his head. “Surely he is not in communication with her, nor can we trust her!” 

“Wrong on both counts,” she fired back, tossing her head impatiently. “Do you remember what happened when the Enclave fell? I attacked Rhea due to the conditioning Darth Arundel forced into my mind. The Jedi would have killed me for it - but Edelgard saved me. She took me off-world and then just… let me go, saying it was my choice what happened next. I think she was hoping I’d join her, but she didn’t stop me returning to Leicester.”

Ah. She’d actually remembered more about that day than Claude had assumed, _and_ she’d figured out he was regularly communicating with Edelgard. He’d underestimated her - which was not a mistake he made often. 

“She did this out of… what, a sense of honor?” Sylvain spoke for most of his planet’s delegation, sounding as skeptical as they looked.

“Yes, actually. She might be Sith, but she wasn’t willing to let me die for something I didn’t choose. It offended her… principles, I suppose.”

Dimitri cleared his throat, and everyone looked at him. Claude half-expected a rant about how badly he wanted to kill Edelgard, along with every other Sith. But, no - the king’s face was relatively calm. “That _does_ sound like her, in all honesty. Nor do I see her being very happy with service under one as treacherous and dishonorable as Darth Arundel.” 

Felix scowled. “I’m glad you’re no longer a raging beast, but you don’t need to go _this_ soft.” 

“I’m drawing on my experience as ‘a beast,’” the king said drily. “Every moment I was with Cornelia, I was plotting how I would betray and kill her. I suppose that is the way of all Sith. It doesn’t mean I can accept Edelgard conquering the Galaxy.” 

“But for the moment, the three of us have a common enemy,” Claude said, carefully. This all depended on Dimitri being willing to participate in his plan. “Lysithea is right. I have… ways… of contacting Edelgard. I came up with this plan, and she’s agreed to it.”

“You can’t be serious. We can’t be considering this,” Felix scoffed. “She’s played you. The Sith fleet will encircle and destroy us!” 

“I don’t think she has. She _needs_ us to kill the Darth. The moment Arundel falls, _she_ will be Lord of the Sith.”

“So your _best_ -case scenario is us serving as her pawns.” 

“We’re using each other,” Claude said, shrugging. “ _We_ desperately need a win against the Sith. The Republic’s will is almost broken; a victory here is the only way to keep them in the fight.” 

Sylvain frowned. “I guess we need to do this… But it’s temporary relief, at best. Once the Sith are fully under her control, no more in-fighting, they’ll be more dangerous than ever.” 

“Arundel will have loyalists, like Cornelia, who won’t accept her so easily,” Dimitri mused. “It will take her time to achieve full control. Time we can take advantage of to beat the Sith back from the Core Worlds.” 

“Now you’re speaking my language,” Claude grinned. “My pals in the SIS are busily preparing the Jedi High Council and Republic military for a simultaneous counter-attack. But we can’t get ahead of ourselves: it all depends on defeating Arundel here, today. The question is, do you trust me - and Edelgard - enough to commit to the plan?” 

All eyes were on Dimitri. The king only hesitated a moment before he nodded. “I believe that we can. If any of you disagree, I won’t force you to risk your own lives. Take a shuttle and go back to Faerghus-” 

“Oh, shut up,” Felix snapped. “This is a stupid plan, but I’m not running.” 

“I must confess that I am also uneasy with this turn of events,” Lorenz said. “But Claude has proven himself again and again during this war, and I choose to place my life in his hands, against my better judgment.” 

Nobody else was as long-winded as Lorenz, but their sentiments were the same. They were all staying, whether to support their King or their Duke. It was touching, really. A lesser man might have been afflicted by sentimentality. 

“Is there something in your eyes, Claude?” Dimitri asked, innocent as always.

“Oh, I’m fine. We move out on your signal, Your Majesty,” Claude said, carefully turning to face the front of the ship.

* * *

Claude was a smart guy, and he wouldn’t have come up with this plan if he didn’t think it’d work, but part of Sylvain was still pretty sure they were flying to their deaths. As the first wave of their attack broke against the Sith fleet’s barrage, he just sighed and started preparing himself for the inevitable. Maybe he could pull off that ghost trick Glenn had... haunt somewhere fun, like Nar Shaddaa, amuse himself with it- 

Then _two-thirds_ of the Sith fleet abruptly broke away from the rest, jumping into hyperspace with little fanfare.

“Holy shit,” Sylvain breathed. “She actually did it.” 

“She didn’t just cut and run, either. Look-” Claude pulled up a scan of the opposing fleet. “The _entire_ fleet’s shields and hyperdrive are all offline.” 

Dimitri’s grin was wide and slightly terrifying. “I think it’s time we paid Darth Arundel a visit.” 

In their current condition, the remaining Sith fleet were sitting ducks. The _King Loog_ had no issue drawing up alongside their flagship, as the rest of the allied navy happily blasted the subordinate ships into tiny pieces. 

“This could be a trap _within_ a trap. Maybe she just wants to get both of you on the same ship with Arundel so she can blow all three of you up,” Sylvain said, because that part of him refused to take easy wins even when they were handed right to him. 

“It’s possible,” Claude conceded. “But at some point, to win this war, we’re gonna need to take a leap of faith.”

“I’m going to trust her,” Dimitri said. There was no doubt in him at all, which Sylvain (and Felix, through their bond) found both unbelievable and a little disgusting. “If you’d prefer to stay on the ship-” 

“No, no, I’m just getting my ‘I told you so’ in early if this all goes to shit.” And Sylvain joined the rest in the boarding shuttle. Mostly because Felix was already on it. 

They flew right into the hangar bay, since the flagship’s force fields were down along with everything else. Their welcoming party consisted of several Sith apprentices and an entire battalion of Adrestian soldiers.

But _they_ had a handful of the top Jedi in the System. It wasn’t even close. 

“I’ll trust you to guard the shuttle,” Claude told a couple of Republic soldiers that Sylvain vaguely recognized. Rookies who’d been at the enclave at the same time as them. They looked like a comedy duo; one six and a half feet tall and muscle-bound; the other about a foot shorter and rail-thin, cybernetic 'glasses' over his eyes. 

Then they were off, fighting their way to the bridge of the ship. They were outnumbered, and the Sith knew they were here and where they were going, but it didn’t matter. Dimitri was unstoppable, and for once it was in the good way. He displayed the same unnatural strength and impossible speed, blurring through each group of soldiers faster than a Force-Blind’s eye could even track; but instead of killing them all, he simply knocked them out, either with the hilt of his saber or an open palm. 

Felix handled the Sith they came across, eager for a proper duel. They fell, one after another, after failing to satisfy him. 

Someone on the other side had mustered control of the ship’s systems again, but it didn’t slow them down much, because Claude sliced through their defenses after only a few moments of effort. Security doors all over the ship flew open as they approached. 

Darth Arundel awaited them - or rather, that Thales person Seteth and Byleth had briefed them about, for he’d shed his human disguise. Their old Jedi teachers had been pretty cagey about how much they knew, but their warning had been clear enough. He was over a thousand years old, and very strong in the Force: powerful enough to slaughter an entire planet all by himself. They were perhaps a dozen Jedi Knights whose combined life and combat experience didn’t add up to a tenth of his own. 

Beside him, Felix grinned. “Finally. A challenge.” 

Well, that was _one_ way to think about it. 

* * *

Edelgard smiled as most of the fleet - _her_ part of the fleet - did as instructed. She hadn’t lacked confidence that the men and women in the military were personally loyal to her. The only potential obstacle had been the apprentices Arundel had stationed in command of every ship, but evidently none had put up much of a fight. Even Sith could be easily shot in the back when they weren’t expecting it.

“We should depart as well,” Hubert said, because he’d made his dislike of the next part of the plan _very_ clear. “They will surely destroy Arundel. If a few of them die in the attempt, so much the better.” 

“Your objection is noted, but overruled. I want to see him die with my own eyes.” And if she could secure the killing blow for herself, if it _happened_ to keep Claude and her step-brother alive… that might not be so bad. 

Hubert was clearly unhappy, but he stopped arguing. He piloted their boarding shuttle smoothly to a small, secondary hangar bay. Their codes indicated they were part of the Sith fleet, so they faced no resistance until it was _far_ too late.

“I will offer this once. Surrender, and your lives will be spared,” Edelgard said in a loud voice. 

Her only answer was a barrage of blaster fire. The men were personally loyal to Arundel. Their mistake. 

“I was hoping it’d go this way!” Caspar shouted, and then he and the other Mandalorians exploded out of the shuttle and into the Adrestian defenses. The battle-lust roiled off them like a wave, and they were not interested in taking prisoners. 

Hubert broke off afterwards, flanked by Ferdinand and Bernadetta, to carry out his part of the plan. Her path to the flagship’s bridge was mostly unimpeded, since so many Sith apprentices and soldiers were currently dealing with Claude and Dimitri’s strike force. Edelgard stopped in front of the back door onto the bridge, hid her Force-signature from Arundel’s senses… and waited for the others to arrive. 

“Finally. A challenge,” she heard Fraldarius say through the door. 

An explosion of Force lightning followed. Edelgard broke through the door and saw Arundel in his true, alien form - and all of his power. He’d summoned so much lightning into the enclosed space that it was like stepping into a hurricane of Force. Every time one of the Jedi moved, lightning shot straight at them, with deadly speed and precision. 

Only Dimitri had managed to push through it. Arundel sneered at him, gathering Force in his left hand as the right directed the Storm. “You worms never learn…” 

Dimitri _smiled_ , and Edelgard saw what her master was missing. Her stepbrother let himself take the hit, dropping to one knee, but it had all been a feint. With Arundel’s attention on the obvious threat, he hadn’t noticed Claude lining up a shot with that ridiculous rifle of his. The second that Dimitri dropped out of the line of fire, Claude pulled the trigger. A bolt of yellow power flew through the air, faster than even Arundel could react, and slammed into his gut.

The Storm flickered - just for a moment, before Arundel re-exerted control of it. But a moment was all Edelgard needed to leap behind him.

Another Sith might have paused to savor their triumph. Delivered a long-planned speech or biting one-liners. Edelgard knew she couldn’t give him the time to react, to recover. Her saber moved in one smooth arc - to remove Arundel’s head from his shoulders. 

Her only regret was how quick and easy the man’s death was. He deserved to suffer as all his victims had suffered - but one couldn’t have everything.

The Storm winked out of life. Dimitri was immediately on his feet and… _staring_ was the wrong word, given that he wore a blindfold over what had once been his eyes, but he clearly recognized her Force signature, now that she was no longer hiding it. 

Even Claude was a little surprised: “Huh. I underestimated you. Figured you’d let us do all the dirty work.”

“That’s what _you’d_ have done,” she said. “I needed to see him die with my own eyes.” 

“Well, you’ve seen it. What happens now?” Claude genuinely didn’t know, which was not something he took well to. She could sense the nervous energy in him, even as he stood stock-still and with a blank expression. 

Dimitri held out one hand, empty, palm up. “Your master is dead. There’s no reason for us to keep fighting… is there?”

Edelgard scowled at him. “Is that what you think I was? Some helpless victim of Arundel’s cruelty? Don’t underestimate me, Dimitri.” 

“I didn’t mean…” He sighed. “I meant no insult. But I don’t understand.” 

“I arranged this - all of this - because Arundel did not deserve to be Lord of the Sith. That title is rightfully mine. Now the Queen of Adrestia will become an Emperor. You were useful to me today, so I will spare your lives for now-” 

Fraldarius snorted. “You think you could take all of us at once? Arrogant, even for you.” 

“No - but the detonators I’ve rigged all over this ship will activate if you take one step closer,” Edelgard said. It was no bluff - Hubert had been busy. He’d hated that she was putting herself in danger, but if they called her bluff, he’d do what he’d been ordered to do. 

Claude actually laughed, seeming pleased that he'd been out-maneuvered for once. “Guess you win this round. But I’m not done, Your Imperial Majesty. You’ll want to check on the Core Worlds when you get back home.” 

She didn’t let him see that the jab had landed home - what was he talking about? How many other games did he have running? Instead, she faced the others. “I am leaving now. If you restrain yourselves from trying to shoot our escape shuttle out of the sky, I will release Grandmaster Rhea. Call it a token of good faith.” 

“You’ve had her all along? Ah, let me guess - keeping her safe from Thales and his people.” She was surprised to hear Claude use that name. Just how much had he found out? She couldn’t believe that Seteth went around telling people that information. Even on Adrestia, the true nature of “Seiros” was a jealously guarded secret, for the royal family’s ears alone. 

Edelgard nodded. “Just so. I won’t claim she had an easy time of it, but she _is_ alive, which she would not have been if I did not imprison her personally. Well - what do you say?” 

Dimitri frowned, with that kicked-akk-puppy look which evidently hadn’t changed much since his childhood. “I would have let you go without the threats - or the hostage. We’re family, El. It doesn’t have to be this way.” 

“And yet it is,” she said, cold and severe. “The next time we meet, it will be on the battlefield. I suggest you prepare yourself.” 

He didn’t know what to say to that. Claude certainly had words of his own, but he kept them to himself. She could feel both sets of eyes on her as she turned her back on them - still half-expecting someone, Fraldarius, probably, to attack. 

But they didn’t. They let her walk away. They didn’t fire on the shuttle as it streaked away and down into Adrestian air-space, either.

“Well, that went well,” Ferdinand said, much to Hubert’s obvious disgust. 

“Is that what you think? We killed Arundel, yes, but _look_ at this.” Hubert pulled up a series of reports from their Core Worlds forces. “They coordinated this attack with a Republic push in the Inner Rim. Almost total destruction of our fleet, and our ground troops are stranded. _Damn_ that Claude Riegan.” 

_You should’ve let me kill him_ , his tone said, like it had been saying almost every day since the Enclave fell.

“It’s a blow, but there is a silver lining. We don’t need to carefully interview and determine the loyalty of those forces, now. Our remaining troops are those we can count on completely. And we still have a significant advantage here in the Fodlan System. Take this System, and the Republic will follow.” 

“I suppose,” Hubert said, though he sounded surlier than she’d ever heard him before. “We need the Mandalorians to declare for us. There can be no more delay.” 

“Agreed. This time tomorrow we must be meeting with Ladislava.”

“I’ll make the arrangements,” he murmured. As usual, he would speak no more of his doubts now that he’d said his piece. She was grateful for that. 

Actual loyalty rewarded by loyalty on her part - _that_ was why she’d beaten Arundel. And that was why she’d win this war. She’d make sure the Galaxy was a better place for everyone - even if she must force it to be. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * I'm back! Not gonna lie, things looking up from Tuesday night helped me get the motivation to write ahead again lol. 28 chapters are fully written and the last two are outlined.
> 
> * I love writing Sith power games lol. I want more of that in canon Star Wars. They're so interesting.


	27. Two Weeks Later

**Coruscant**

Reporting to the full, assembled Jedi High Council was an honor that most Knights never got to experience. In that moment, Byleth wished he was any of those other Knights. Politics was boring and exhausting. 

He dreamed about teaching another class of padawans at Garreg Mach. The thought made him smile, ever so slightly. He’d been so reluctant to take on that position; now he knew it was his true calling. 

He’d have to thank Grandmaster Rhea when she was fully recovered from her ordeal. Against all odds, Edelgard had been true to her word, releasing her prisoner as soon as she returned to Adrestia. Rhea was currently recuperating on Garreg Mach, her remaining ‘family’ - Seteth and Flayn - at her side. At some point, Byleth would have to deal with shutting down the Sothis cloning project; but for now, he would let her rest. 

“... Most of the Sith retreated from the Core Worlds when news of Arundel’s death reached them, stranding their military forces,” a Twi’lek Master that Byleth had never seen before was saying. “Simultaneously, the _Silver Maiden_ , a top-of-the-line Faerghan warship, was stolen from the Kuat shipyard.” 

“King Dimitri and Duke Riegan are en route to intercept. We have reason to believe that Lord Cornelia is responsible for the theft,” Byleth said evenly. “She’s called surviving Sith who are Arundel loyalists - or at least hate Edelgard - to join her. If we time it right, we can deal with most of the Sith that remain-” 

“Or it’s a trap,” an older human Master interrupted, with a suspicious look on her face. “It’s obvious that the source of our intelligence is the so-called Emperor herself. I dislike being used as a pawn in Sith power-games.” 

It really wasn’t up to the High Council - Dimitri and Claude were already committed to the plan, and neither were inclined to wait on official permission from Coruscant. Byleth had somehow drawn the short straw of going to deal with the political fallout.

“She seeks to use us, plainly, but those Sith must still be dealt with,” an Ithorian master rumbled. His large eyes fixed themselves on Byleth’s face. “You were her instructor for several months, Knight. What is her agenda?” 

“Extermination of any Sith who is not loyal to her personally,” Byleth said, with no hesitation. “She would rather have only a handful of followers, as long as those few who remain accept her vision for the Sith.” 

“She’s lost her grip on the Core Worlds. Lord Cornelia and those remaining Sith could be a significant thorn in our side, preventing us from mobilizing against Adrestia. Instead, she is sacrificing them out of… ideological purity?” The human master sounded skeptical, and she clearly spoke for a significant portion of the Council.

Byleth nodded. “She is the kind of leader who would rather die well than live in violation of her own principles. I have no doubt about that.” 

The Ithorian sighed. “I say let we let the King and Duke proceed with removing Cornelia,” he said, as if the Council had a choice. “Fanaticism may make our remaining foes stronger, but we can ill afford a two-front war.” 

Another Master nodded, and started reporting on the state of the Core Worlds after two years of war. It was not a pretty picture. Arundel had almost brought the Republic to its knees before falling to Claude and Edelgard’s trap. Even now, victory in the war depended entirely on what happened in the Fodlan System. If the new alliance of planets couldn’t stop Adrestia there, Edelgard would be back, and Coruscant would be helpless against her. 

“-She must replace the generals and forces she’s sacrificing with Cornelia,” someone said, jolting Byleth from his musing. 

“A deal with the Hutt Cartel? Previous Sith regimes were more than happy to leave Hutt space alone in exchange for their support.”

“That is not her style,” Byleth said. “She values honor and loyalty too highly. No - she will seek to bring the Mandalorians into her army.” 

He could’ve heard a pin drop in the silence that followed. Everyone in that room knew their history. Once, the combined might of the Mandalorian clans had nearly conquered the entire Republic by themselves. The Jedi, led by Revan, managed a victory - but at significant cost, with Revan and most of their generals Falling as a result of what they’d had to do to win that war. 

And now Byleth was suggesting the Emperor of the Sith and the Mandalore would _combine_ forces. Each one on their own was an existential threat to the Republic. Having to fight both of them at once was almost unthinkable. 

“I suggest you return to the Fodlan System without delay,” the Ithorian said solemnly. “The fate of the Republic itself will be decided in the next few days. We _cannot_ give her and the Mandalorians any time to prepare a counter-attack.” 

“Just what I was going to suggest, Master,” Byleth said. He gave a perfunctory bow before walking quickly out of the Council chambers. 

Technically, the alliance was not formally declared, but Byleth knew better than to underestimate his former student. She was everything the Mandalorians respected: strong, honorable, and a fierce warrior. He had no doubt she’d succeed in her courting of the Mandalore. 

They needed to seize Adrestia - and quickly, or the entire Galaxy would be powerless to resist Emperor Edelgard. 

* * *

**Kuat**

The _Silver Maiden_ was the single most powerful warship in the Faerghan fleet - and potentially the entire Galaxy. Prototype shields, top-of-the-line experimental weapon systems… and it had been grounded in the Kuat ship-yards to add yet another upgrade, engineers installing the latest in hyperdrive technology. 

It was no surprise that Cornelia targeted it. She’d managed to seize it through a combination of murder, Force mind-tricks, and some officials not realizing that her Faerghan noble’s credentials were completely out of date. 

Still, it was just one ship. And Dimitri was more than willing to damage it in exchange for dealing with Cornelia and those remaining Sith who’d fled to her side. 

Claude watched him carefully as they boarded the _Silver Maiden_ , while pretending not to. He had a feeling he wasn’t fooling Sylvain, though the Gautier heir was pretty much doing the same thing. 

Dimitri had seemed fine lately, but how would he stand up to Cornelia’s taunts and threats? She’d been hugely responsible for his Fall, and would surely try to goad him to strike her down in anger and hate. All the work he’d done to recover wouldn’t count for much if he failed that first test. 

In the end, he needn’t have worried. Cornelia taunted him during their duel, all right. She revealed, with dramatic flair and perfect timing, that Patricia Arundel had been one of the Sith. All Adrestian concubines were selected for their strength in the Force, an attempt to create as many strong candidates as possible; and all received the Dark training.

Dimitri… just laughed. “Did you think that would shake my resolve? Whatever she was in that part of her life, she embraced the Light by the end of it. I know that for a fact.” 

“What are you talking about?” Cornelia hissed, and Claude noted, with clinical interest, that she looked… unbalanced. Afraid, possibly for the first time in her life. The lightning from her hands shot out, wild and raw, but Dimitri blocked it smoothly with a twirl of his saber. 

“I _spoke_ to her, and Father, and Glenn. Their true spirits, not the false constructs _you_ used against me.”

“That’s impossible! No one can truly return after death!” 

“No _Sith_ can. Ironic - they cling too desperately to life to give it up and become one with the Force. But all three of them _did_ , because they died at peace with themselves, as horrible as their manner of death was.”

“You’re a fool,” Cornelia spat, her red blade locked against his white. “All that noble talk won’t make you strong enough to defeat Edelgard. Only the Dark-” 

“If I used _that_ to strike her down, I’d be - well, a good deal worse of an Emperor than she, honestly. Her self-control despite being Sith is truly remarkable.” He cleared his throat. “Now, I will offer this only once. Surrender, and I’ll spare your life-” 

Cornelia snarled and lunged towards him, but Claude could have told her it was a mistake. Blind or not, Dimitri’s Force sight was perfect. He smoothly stepped out of the way of her blow. His counter-attack took her head from her shoulders.

“A quicker death than she deserves, perhaps,” the king mused, but he sounded calm, and that was the important part. 

Felix scoffed. “Are you going to hold your hand out to _all_ the Sith we encounter? If you’re not careful, one of them will chop it off.” 

“I believe that I will,” Dimitri said, his voice quiet, yet resolute. “I was in their place once, and it’s only thanks to my friends that I survived to return to the Light.” 

“Edelgard won’t take it. We all know that,” his advisor shot back. “Do you have the strength to do what needs to be done?” 

“If I must,” the king said, though his face was drawn and pale. 

“I actually… have an idea on that front,” Claude said. When all the Faerghan eyes were on him, he grinned and shrugged. “I didn’t want to get your hopes up. And it _is_ a long shot. But it’s _just_ possible that it might work…” 

“Ah, I’m guessing your _idea_ is why Yuri and Ashe took the _Kyphon_ and departed so suddenly?” Sylvain didn’t miss much, but even he would have a hard time guessing what, exactly, Claude had a line on. It hadn’t been seen in the Galaxy for hundreds of years. 

“I’ll explain _if_ they can find it. And I wouldn’t get your hopes up, Dimitri. If I know her at all, she’d rather die than become our prisoner.”

“I know… I know. It’s unfair,” the king sighed. “She’s as much Arundel’s victim as I am. We should be working together right now, not trying to kill each other.” 

“She _really_ isn’t going to listen to us if you keep calling her that,” Claude said, gently, but the reprimand was clear. “She sees herself as someone who made the best of horrific circumstances, not a victim of them.” 

“Ah - you’re right, of course. Perhaps I should leave the talking to you. I believe you two see things in a very similar light.” 

Dimitri had no idea how right that was. Claude’s own childhood on Almyra hadn’t been filled with Sith torture - but it hadn’t exactly been pleasant, either. And he, like Edelgard, was proud of how he’d risen above it. He’d be just as angry if someone tried to pity him. 

“We do, but that won’t be enough. Still - I’d rather not kill her, either. Hence sending Yuri off. It’s an impossible job, really… Hopefully luck is on our side.” 

“There’s no such thing as luck,” Dimitri said serenely. “But I have faith that the will of the Force will be with us.” 

Felix mimed throwing up behind his king’s back, and Claude had to work to hide a grin. 

* * *

**Mandalore**

Two pieces of excellent news greeted Edelgard when she landed on the planet Mandalore. The _Silver Maiden_ and everyone on it had been killed or captured. At the same time, Hubert’s assassins had dealt with Solon and his own group of Arundel loyalists. Their hidden base on what had once been Nabatea had not been as hidden as they’d assumed; the trap was sprung as soon as they’d retreated to it. 

In the work of a single day, Edelgard, Ferdinand, Bernadetta, and Jeritza were potentially the only Sith remaining in the entire Galaxy. Her predecessors would have been proud. 

(They’d also tell her to cut down two of the ‘extras’ to follow the Rule of Two properly, but she had no intention of doing _that_. She was not one of the paranoid Sith of old. None of the three had given her any reason to doubt their loyalty).

She was playing a dangerous game, though. If Ladislava refused to commit the clans to Edelgard’s cause, she’d lose the war, and it would be _because_ she’d turned against Arundel when he was on the verge of winning it. 

The Mandalorians’ relationship with the Jedi was easy: mutual hatred and preparation for the inevitable next war. The Sith… that was more complicated. The groups’ shared Jedi enemy made them logical allies, but most Sith of old were like Arundel, seeing the Force-Blind Mandalorians as sacrificial pawns. Throughout the years, some Mandalores had refused to work with the Sith, and a handful had even allied with the Republic. 

Being allowed into their home-planet was a good start - and an opportunity she didn’t intend to squander.

Hubert was beside himself with worry as she handed over her lightsaber (and various concealed vibro-knives), ordering the rest of her party to do the same. Hubert hesitated, obviously not liking this arrangement.

“Do you think I’m that helpless? Even with the Force alone, I would be more than they bargained for in a fight,” she chided. 

“The rumors say that armor of theirs resists the Force.” 

“ _And_ lightsabers,” Edelgard said. “If they attack us in great enough numbers, the outcome would be the same - whether I’m armed or not.” 

“That… does not reassure me, my lord.” Hubert blanched, but he eventually removed his entire coat and put it down next to their sabers. She supposed that was quicker than digging out a dozen knives, a half-dozen vials of poison, and whatever other little tricks he had up his (literal) sleeves. 

“I trust the Mandalorians’ honor. The Mandalore may not join us, but she wouldn’t use these talks as an opportunity to betray us.” She made sure the guards at the checkpoint could hear her, confident that the words would find their way over to the Mandalore before they did. 

Ladislava had no throne; instead, she presided over the clans from a particularly large and ornate tent. A feast was in full swing, obviously the result of a successful hunt of some large predators. Despite the importance of this meeting - the Sith Emperor herself on their home-world - most of the clans carried on like nothing out of the ordinary was happening. Some of them were swapping war-stories, while others set up an impromptu sparring ring right outside the tent. 

Ladislava’s own table had several empty seats, and she gestured for Edelgard and the others to join her. Her helmet was off, and Edelgard was a little surprised to see that the woman couldn’t be _that_ much older than she was. Her gaze was fierce and confident, though, and she seemed completely at ease, in command of all the chaos around her.

Linhardt and Caspar were at the table as well, though the former barely lifted his head from his impromptu nap. Caspar greeted them loudly enough, but was obviously bored, continually glancing towards the sounds of the spars taking place just outside. Edelgard guessed that if it was up to him, he’d be in the middle of a brawl right now. 

“The boys here say you aren’t a useless coward like your uncle was,” was the first thing out of Ladislava’s mouth. No formal greeting, not even a respectful one. She felt Hubert stiffen beside her, obviously offended but keeping a lid on it. 

Edelgard smiled, wide and fierce. “I prefer to see things done by my own hands. Perhaps you’ve heard that I killed him myself.” 

“I did… I also heard that the Jedi wiped out most of the Sith. I suppose that means you’re desperate enough to come to me?” 

“Not desperate,” Edelgard said. “Those Sith were weak and cowardly. I would much prefer to fight side-by-side with warriors as honorable as the Mandalorians.” 

“You would, would you?” Ladislava’s tone was mild, but her eyes were sharp. “We’ve dealt with your kind before. When the going gets tough, they don’t hesitate to hang us out to dry.” 

“I won’t ask you to trust me based on my words alone. But there will be no room to retreat in this next battle. My enemies are coming for Adrestia itself, and we will need to fight with everything we have to win.” 

Ladislava barked out a laugh. “Sounds like you’re fucked without us.” 

“More or less,” Edelgard said. Hubert hissed, obviously not wanting her to admit how dire the situation was - but Edelgard ignored him. She’d dealt with Linhardt and Caspar’s clan enough to know what Mandalorians did and did not respect.

“Why should I commit the clans to a lost cause?” 

“Because with warriors of your caliber, it is _not_ lost. It’s an opportunity - to crush the Jedi Order. The entire Galaxy will know who is responsible for our victory. They’ll say that Mandalore the Unyielding did what all her predecessors could not.” 

Edelgard knew she had Ladislava, then. The other woman’s eyes gleamed, and her grin turned positively _predatory_. “And afterwards?”

“Whatever you wish. The Mandalore may be an honored advisor on my council… or she can take the clans and carve out as much of the Galaxy as she desires.” 

“You’re saying all the right things,” Ladislava said. She stood abruptly and jerked a thumb towards the tent’s exit. “Now prove it.” 

Hubert’s face blanched, but he knew better than to try and stop his Emperor from accepting the challenge. 

Both women came back into the tent a half hour later, bruised from head to toe. It had been an unarmed brawl, but neither of them held back. Edelgard knew she’d performed well enough to win Ladislava’s respect the first time she managed to get the Mandalore on the ground and forced her to yield.

“Listen up!” Ladislava shouted, her voice easily carrying above the buzz of the feast. “I’ve tested the Sith Emperor myself - and she’s a true warrior. She’s also promising us a chance to kill many Jedi! That sounds good to me - what do you say?” 

“I can’t believe _this_ is how they make political decisions,” Ferdinand muttered, as various clan chiefs lifted their weapons and roared their approval. “The taxation and regulatory system must be an absolute _nightmare_ …” 

“They’re one step above barbarians,” Hubert whispered back. For once, he agreed with Aegir completely. “But we _need_ them.”

“I heard that,” Linhardt said, at the same time that Caspar stood and shouted, “Hell yeah, let’s kill some Jedi!” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Close to the end now! I have 29 chapters written and the 30th will be a shorter epilogue type. We should get this done over the next 2 weeks. 
> 
> * I love Mandalorians.


	28. The Battle for Adrestia

Yuri was a very good spy, and most people in the Galaxy had no idea how much the work he did helped to prop up an unsteady Galactic Republic. So he figured he could allow himself the occasional indulgence in his flair for the dramatic. It was a nice reward for all of his silent, unseen efforts. 

Instead of sending Claude a message that they’d found _the object_ , he swaggered straight into a war council meeting in the _King Loog’s_ boardroom, against Ashe’s increasingly squeaky objections. The smuggler-captain flushed an adorable shade of pink and stammered as the King, the Duke, Knight Byleth Eisner, and leading nobles of several planets all turned to look at the pair.

“I-I’m sorry for the interruption-” 

“I’ve got it,” Yuri announced. He swept his cape back in dramatic fashion to show Claude the box under his arm - secured not just by conventional electronic security locks, but also sealed by a careful application of his own Force. 

For perhaps the first time in their working relationship, he saw Claude’s honest feelings. The Duke’s jaw dropped, and it took him several seconds to recover his usual poise. “You… actually found it, huh? When we lost contact with your comms, I thought… Well.” 

“Ran into a spot of trouble, but I got the job done,” Yuri drawled. Sometimes, understatement was best. He _could’ve_ gone into the details of how he and Ashe were almost murdered by the primitive aliens guarding the thing… but let the nobles’ imaginations run wild; they’d come up with an even better tale. 

“Is this… what you were talking about?” the king asked. If he’d still had his eyes, they’d probably be wide with shock. 

“Our only shot at _potentially_ taking Edelgard alive? Yeah. This is it.” 

Yuri’s eyes flicked around the table. He recognized nobles and diplomats from Almyra, Dagda, Morfis, Sreng... even a clan chieftain from the recently restored Duscur. Quite a coalition - the Duke had been busy. Was it his silver tongue that overcame a thousand years of mistrust among the System’s planets - or was it how badly Adrestia had scared the rest of the System? 

“Now there’s just the matter of our reward…”

“Reward? I just wanted to help - _ow_ ,” Ashe said, cutting off when Yuri elbowed him. Nice kid, but he needed to learn when to shut up and take the credits.

“You are both Faerghus-born, correct? Peerage would not be out of the question,” Dimitri said warmly. Yuri was fairly certain he couldn’t just… declare that, but the king was nothing if not earnest. “Captain Ubert, you’ve done so much for this war effort - and me, personally. It would mean complete financial security for your brothers and sisters… and I would be honored to have someone like you as one of my baronets. Your unique perspective would certainly benefit the common people!” 

Ashe looked like he was about to pass out, but he somehow managed to stammer his acceptance. 

“Nothing like that for _me_ , please,” Yuri said, before Dimitri could do something he’d later regret, like naming a Republic spy to his court. 

“Faerghus rewarded one - let Leicester reward the other,” Claude said, all ducal and grand. “We’ll hold a private audience directly after, and you can name your desire.” 

Yuri nodded. He certainly didn’t want to bare his soul in front of all these assembled strangers. He knew Claude would be good for it, too. So he didn’t hesitate in walking over and depositing the box in front of the Duke, bowing, and walking out.

“How will this work?” he heard Dimitri ask.

Claude gave a somewhat nervous chuckle. “Okay, so _nobody_ is going to like this part, but we’ll have to…” 

* * *

Felix _hated_ the plan, and he’d made no secret about it. As soon as the war council was over and he wouldn’t be publicly undermining his king, he’d torn into Dimitri. Was he eager to throw his own life away? Why the _hell_ would he risk everything they’d fought for, just for a slim chance at taking Edelgard alive? 

But it was no use. He could deal with Dimitri attempting to do something naive and soft-hearted; he couldn’t argue against _Claude Riegan_ , of all people, supporting the exact same idea. He just couldn’t understand why the infamous-for-his-scheming Duke agreed to such a _stupid_ plan.

As they piled into the ships that would carry them down to Enbarr, Sylvain read his mind - and snorted. “It’s obvious, isn’t it?” 

“Stop acting _smug_ and explain it to me,” Felix growled. 

Sylvain smirked and leaned in as if to kiss him - not unwelcome, most of the time, but this was _public_ and - and Sylvain turned aside at the last moment, winking at Felix’s look of mingled disappointment and fury, to whisper in his ear: “Claude wants _her_ as much as you want me.” 

He shoved Sylvain away with a snarl. “Be serious.” 

“I am, I swear! You know I’ve always been good at reading people in the Force.” It had been a necessary skill for Sylvain to survive a verbally abusive father _and_ physically abusive brother - but Felix didn’t want to think about that too much, or he might Fall to the Dark Side then and there. At least he could tear the Margrave’s head off before the Jedi locked him up- 

“Claude is just as good at hiding his emotions,” he said, forcing himself out of the pleasant fantasy. 

“A combination of my abilities and plain logic, then,” Sylvain said airily. “They were always playing holochess at the Enclave… neither of them are the type to spend that much time with someone for no reason. They don’t have friends, they have _allies_ or _useful contacts_ \- and yet, he’s willing to risk his own neck for her.” 

It was odd behavior for Riegan, Felix had to admit. He’d expected the Duke to come up with some plan to blockade and slowly starve Adrestia - or a clever maneuver to give them the advantage in an all-out battle. Instead, he’d suggested they raid the capital directly with an elite strike force… whose only purpose was to get him and Dimitri in the same room as Edelgard, where they’d use Yuri’s mysterious present to… well, Claude hadn’t been too clear about what would happen _then_. 

If his old man was here, he’d have a heart attack at the idea of Dimitri putting himself in so much danger instead of leading from the back, like a proper king.

Felix paused, savoring his current mental image: the look of horror on Rodrigue’s face when he’d heard what they’d done. 

Maybe he liked this plan, after all. 

* * *

When the Mandalore made up her mind, she moved fast. Every clan that could fit the quota of able-bodied fighters was deployed to the surface of Adrestia, augmenting the pitiful royal defenses with the muscle and tech of the Galaxy’s finest warriors. 

There had been great honor in Caspar and Linhardt’s assignment. The alliance would never have happened if the two of them hadn’t given Ladislava a good report of the new Sith Emperor’s character. And if Ladislava had chosen to simply stay out of the war, Adrestia would have fallen - there was no doubt about it. 

So both the Mandalorians and Adrestia had high praise for the pair’s work, but Caspar had been bored out of his mind with all of the _talking_ and _negotiating_. Now it was finally time to do what he loved to do and _fight_. 

When the attack finally came, there was something weird about it. Even Caspar could tell the enemy forces weren’t really committed to it. It was more like… like they were probing the defenses around the capital, making a light effort in one spot only to pull back and test another location.

Behind him, Linhardt looked up and sighed. “ _T_ _hat’s_ their real plan.” 

Caspar followed his friend’s eyes to see - a single shuttle, moving nimbly through the air. Each blast from one of the ground cannons missed the vessel by mere inches, the shuttle’s pilot maneuvering through the fire with unnatural poise.

“Jedi pilot. I think - yeah, Ingrid Galatea, specifically,” Linhardt murmured. Caspar knew better than to question it - he’d often seen how Lin’s Force connection let him simply _know_ things he couldn’t possibly have seen or heard. 

“The whole attack is a distraction!?” 

“Yes. Drawing out our defenses so they could deliver an elite assasin squad to the palace and deal with Edelgard. Pretty clever,” Linhardt said, sounding bored, as if he hadn’t just declared their employer was going to die.

“We gotta go!” 

“Caspar, it’s already too late - and she can defend herself. We should-” 

What they _should_ do was a moot point a moment later, because a Republic strike force hit their position. Some of the defenders - members of a clan Caspar wasn’t familiar with - died immediately. The rest joined him in a desperate struggle against the opposing forces, who outnumbered them about two to one.

There was something damn familiar about the unit’s officer, who was blasting away with an auto-cannon that looked to weigh about as much as Caspar’s entire body. Caspar launched himself into the air, jetpack carrying him _above_ the stream of bolts - and down onto the officer’s body, jarring the cannon out of his hands as they both hit the ground hard.

They both got up and activated melee weapons - Caspar, a long blade attached to one of his gauntlets; the soldier grabbing a long vibro-knife and snapping it to life. Caspar recognized a particular notch in that blade, because he’d been there when it happened; one of his sparring sessions back at the Enclave… 

“Raphael!” he called, grinning under his helmet.

The soldier’s own expression was hidden behind _his_ helmet, but he didn’t sound nearly as happy. “Caspar? What the hell - I thought we were friends.” 

“Uh… we are? What are you talking about?” 

“You and Edelgard were planning to attack the Enclave the whole time you were there! How could you just… act like it wasn’t happening? Pretend to be nice to me?” 

Caspar shook his head. “Nah, man, you don’t get it. I’m a _Mandalorian!_ You’re a damn good fighter, and I respect the hell out of you - I wasn’t faking any of it. I was hoping, when the time came, I’d fight you for real!” 

“You sound like you’re enjoying it. The idea of killing a friend,” Raphael said, his helmet-modulated voice coming out quiet and very sad. “That’s fucked. I’m not here because I _enjoy_ killing. I just want to make sure the Galaxy’s safe for the people I care about.” 

“Yeah, well, maybe your cause will give you more strength than mine. Let’s find out! No interference,” Caspar called over his shoulder, and the Mandalorians from the unfamiliar clan nodded and backed away. Any Mandalorian worth their salt would respect the call for an honor duel. 

It seemed that Raphael’s side didn’t have the same standards. He’d barely taken a step towards the soldier before a bolt slammed into his chest. From the force and impact, it was a sniper rifle - ah yeah, the little twerp from Raphael’s unit, with the cybernetic eyes, Caspar reflected, even as his legs gave out on him and he hit the ground, coughing up blood. 

Hell of a way to die. Instead of an honorable duel against another warrior... he’d been picked off by a coward’s weapon. He closed his eyes, resigned to his fate. There was no way a med-pac would close _that_ wound in time - 

Then Linhardt was bending over him, helmet and gauntlets cast aside, placing his hands over the hole in Caspar’s chest. Hands that were glowing with the light of… of using the Force. He was Force-healing, right in the open! 

“Lin, you can’t,” Caspar grunted. Even forming the words was painful. “That other clan is right there, they can _see_ -” 

“You idiot,” Linhardt said evenly. “What’s the point of staying a Mandalorian if the cost is losing my _cyare_?” 

“ _Oh,_ ” Caspar said, feeling a little silly. All of this time they’d been friends, companions - closer than brothers - and he’d never really considered the fact that Lin loved him like _that_ . Now that he started to think about it, though, the signs were pretty obvious - how many years had Lin been waiting for _him_ to figure out and make a move? 

“ _Demagolka_ ,” one of the other Mandalorians cursed. Caspar’s eyes grew wide when she put a blaster to the back of Linhardt’s head. “Step away from him, you damn sorcerer-” 

Raphael’s fist slammed into the back of her helmet, and she dropped like a stone. Raphael spread his legs and glared at the remaining Mandalorians. The laser-sight of Ignatz’s sniper rifle flicked over their chests, one after the other. 

“If you got a problem with _them_ , you go through _us_ ," the large soldier said. His tone left no doubt that he'd personally fight every one of them if he had to. 

The Mandalorians hesitated, but none of them moved. Eventually one snarled: “Fine, but the Mandalore _will_ hear of this.” 

“Tell Ladislava I quit,” Linhardt said, as if he wasn’t throwing his entire life up to that point away - just for Caspar. 

Talking was a little easier - this Force healing was damn good, actually. Caspar groaned. “My father is gonna _kill_ me.” 

“Yes… it seems we have little choice but to switch sides.” Lin addressed Raphael as if they were discussing the weather. “Captain Kirsten. Could your unit use support from two _former_ Mandalorians - and current freelance bounty hunters?” 

“Sure could,” Raphael said, grinning wide. “You’re hired!” 

* * *

Hubert cursed himself for his negligence. All of that work preparing Adrestia’s defenses, and he’d overlooked the enemy’s true intentions. He’d expected a bitter conflict as King Dimitri’s forces fought their way towards the palace, street by street. Instead, _that_ was all a side-show, and the palace’s defenses had already been breached by a battalion of Jedi assassins. 

Riegan’s hands were all over this. Hubert had anticipated something wily and creative from the Duke - but he hadn’t foreseen Dimitri letting Claude determine the overall strategy for the entire allied force. Faerghus and Leicester had been occasional allies before, but it had always been two separate commands, two separate agendas. 

He’d underestimated the strength of _this_ alliance, and it might have cost Edelgard everything. 

He couldn’t even reach the throne room before some slicer on the Jedi strike team turned the palace’s defenses against him. He was currently pinned down by his own security droids’ rifle fire - a shameful predicament. Hubert was confident he could wrest back control of the droids, but he needed to get past _this_ squad and into the computer center. 

A sudden flash of orange light sent the droids’ bolts careening back towards them. Suddenly Ferdinand was there, moving faster than Hubert’s eye could follow. The Sith took care of the droids in a matter of moments, then looked at Hubert like some akk-puppy expecting praise for his good work.

“What are _you_ doing here? You’re supposed to be protecting the Emperor!” Hubert hissed. 

“The throne room is secure for the moment, but we need to turn the palace’s defenses back to our side immediately. She sent me to escort _you_ ,” Ferdinand said.

“My life is irrelevant. She _should_ have sent you to the computers directly.” 

“I am very glad she did not!” Ferdinand shouted. “I prefer you alive, Hubert.” 

There was something else here - something the Sith hesitated to discuss. Hubert could read it in his face, but he pushed it aside - there was no time for it, not when Edelgard was in danger. “We’re wasting time. Follow me.” 

The computer center was guarded by two unfamiliar Jedi, which was good. Not that Hubert cared who he had to kill, but Ferdinand might have hesitated to cut down his friends. As it was, they made short work of the pair, and then Hubert was inside, his fingers flying over the keys as he wrestled control back from the enemy slicer. 

“Oh no,” Ferdinand breathed, staring at the monitor of live feeds from the security cameras. 

“What?” He was close, _so close,_ to getting the droids back online under his control. 

“They’ve breached the throne room.” 

Hubert couldn’t help it - he looked up. His breath caught when he saw it. The King of Faerghus and the Duke of Leicester strode towards his Emperor, while their Jedi friends held back any Adrestian soldier or Mandalorian who attempted to interfere. 

Hubert lunged for another keyboard that would turn the throne room’s hidden defenses against Dimitri and Claude. But he knew it was already too late.

* * *

“So it comes to this,” Edelgard said. She hadn’t been surprised when the strike force breached the palace’s defenses. She’d played enough holo-chess with Claude to know how he’d solve the problem of being outnumbered. His best odds were to gamble it all on the attack - risking his strongest pieces at the slim chance of taking the enemy Queen off of the board. 

Dimitri’s expression was soft and uncertain. “I wish we could convince you to stand down, El. The System will be better if all three of us can work together to solve what ails it.” 

“The Jedi are what ail it,” she said, her tone hard and uncompromising. “Arundel and his Sith are the ones who tortured me and killed my family - but they were only in position to do so because of Rhea’s obsession with the noble families producing heirs that are valued for their strength in the Force above all else.”

“You know I agree with you on that,” Claude said with a sigh. “But I don’t suppose you can take my word for it.” 

“I cannot. The only one I can trust to change this System for the better is myself.” 

Dimitri sighed in turn, relaxing his stance. “Well. There’s nothing else for it.” 

Something was _wrong_ about this interaction. They weren’t attacking her - they had some other plan, but neither seemed particularly eager to implement it. Edelgard’s mind raced, but she couldn’t see what the nature of that plan was -

Until Claude pulled a small object, pyramid-shaped, out from under his cloak. She didn’t recognize it, but she could feel it - it was _thrumming_ with Force, pulsating through the room like a small earthquake. It was many degrees more powerful than any relic she’d encountered before. 

Then Claude threw the pyramid onto the floor. It burst open with a blinding white light, forcing Edelgard to shield her eyes with one hand.

When she opened them again, the throne room was nowhere to be seen. There was only that white light, vast and empty, stretching as far as the eye could see in all directions. The only thing that was _real_ was the three of them, standing huddled together in the center of the empty void.

“Claude… what have you _done_?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * "Cyare" is the Mandalorian word for "person I love" with an explicitly romantic context. That's how even Caspar can figure it out so quickly lol. And if you remember from earlier chapters, the Mandalorians REALLY hate the idea of one of their own being a Force-user, which is why they almost kill Lin on sight. 
> 
> * I didn't spend very much time on some of the characters this time around - there's simply too many, and I had more Star Wars relevant ideas for some than others. But Raphael is a good lad in every timeline, he can get a little moment of being a badass. 
> 
> * Any thoughts on what exactly Claude threw at her and how it works? We'll find out next Tuesday... ;)


	29. Inside the Mind Prison

“Oh, this?” Claude said casually. He looked utterly unconcerned at their predicament - as if his consciousness was sucked into unfamiliar Force relics every weekend. “This is a Rakata mind prison.” 

“The Rakata are extinct.” 

“They sure are. Makes finding a working mind prison even more difficult. Yuri is going to bleed me dry for this one,” he chuckled. 

“Explain how it works,” Edelgard said shortly. There was no sense panicking. No - she needed to get as much information as possible about her current prediction, and come up with a plan to break out of it. 

“Our souls - or whatever you want to call them - have been removed from our bodies. The Rakata used these devices for particularly dangerous prisoners, and occasionally as torture devices. This-” Claude waved his hand at the blank, white light- “is an empty one, though. Also, each mind prison has a time dilation effect. For every day that passes in here, it’s probably more like a second of real-time.” 

“I understand why you would use it to rid yourselves of me - but _both_ of you locked yourselves in? What exactly is your end-game?” 

“There’s only one way out of this particular mind prison,” Dimitri said. He’d been taking in their surroundings without saying a word, and his voice was still quiet. “It will unlock when all three of us choose to leave it.” 

Edelgard scowled at him. “You’ve always been a sentimental fool. You’d rather cost your own subjects their king than kill a single enemy? And _you_ ,” she rounded on Claude: “I can’t believe that you’d do the same.”

“He’s the emotional one. I’m just playing the odds,” Claude said coolly. “We’ll be back in our bodies before they have time to worry about where we’ve done.” 

“You think I’d give up my life’s work so easily? You insult me.” Something about the mind prison was blocking her Force powers, or she might very well have struck him with one. Instead, she turned on her heel and stomped away.

It was useless - she walked out into the white void, but it carried her back to where she’d started a minute later. Ignoring Claude’s smirk and Dimitri’s concerned look, she settled down to meditate. If Claude thought he could break her will with a childish trick like this, he had another thing coming.

* * *

The mind prison removed the need to eat, drink, or even sleep, though that simply made the prospect of being stuck inside one forever all the more intimidating. Claude could easily see why the Rakata had been so fond of using them. Death was too easy when you had someone you _truly_ wanted to punish.

For his own sanity, he kept track of the time, and that’s how he knew that Edelgard didn’t say a word to them for seven whole days. All three of them stubbornly meditated a few feet from one another, letting the silence stretch. 

Someone had to be the first to give in. And Claude was always willing to do what he had to do. He stood and stretched, releasing a long and pent-up sigh.

“There’s one other feature of a mind prison that I didn’t mention. It’s formed from, as the name implies, our own consciousness. I figure if one of us drops our mental defenses long enough, the prison is gonna… Yeah, here we go.” 

The white background shifted somewhat. It wasn’t the true color of his memory - it was too washed-out, as if they were looking at a holo-recording that hadn’t taken particularly well, and suffered from spikes of static as a result. But the little boy was very clearly _Claude_ , and it was immediately obvious what was happening.

Dimitri grimaced. “Are those other children… attacking you?” 

“Oh, yeah. They found out I was half-human.” He tried to sound unaffected, but it was deeply unpleasant to watch it happen again.

Edelgard frowned down at the scene. “What were you - seven? Surely, you could already feel the Force.”

“Why didn’t I pop their heads like ripe fruit, you mean?” Claude said, flippant, but he had a feeling she didn’t miss the real under-current of anger in it. “I thought about it. I thought about it a _lot_. But my mother pointed out that if we’d been back on Leicester, I would’ve gotten attacked all the same - for the other half of my heritage.” 

“I fail to see how that makes it better.” 

“Those kids were… ignorant. Because of the tensions between Almyra and the rest of the System, they accepted at face-value what their parents told them about humans hating aliens. If I’d attacked them, it wouldn’t have done anything but ‘confirm’ their hatred. The cycle would continue - until someone stood up and stopped it.” 

“Or took a few hits, in this case,” Dimitri said, wincing as the memory-children continued to pummel Claude.

“I hope you’re not suggesting I should have _forgiven_ Thales,” Edelgard said with a scowl. 

“Nah, he can burn in whatever hell awaits the Sith after death,” Claude said cheerfully. “But what about the Jedi? Under Rhea’s influence, they were blind and ignorant, no doubt. They didn’t stop to think what she was doing to the System.” 

Dimitri nodded as he caught on to Claude’s point. “The obsession with Force-powered bloodlines created the conditions for Thales’ takeover - but it wasn’t their intent, or hers. In that way, Rhea is like these Almyran children. She was unable to see the cycle of hatred that she was trapped in, even as she continued it.” 

Edelgard shook her head, turning her back on Claude’s memory. “Intentional or not, the damage was real. And Rhea is no child.” 

“So if we let you out, you’d keep on trying to wipe them out.”

“Yes.” 

Claude hid a sigh as the mind prison’s internal locks snapped firmly back into place. Edelgard’s resolve hadn’t even begun to shake; he guessed that they’d be in here for quite a while.

* * *

A few “days” later, the mind prison started to pick up on Dimitri’s memories. Unlike Claude, who’d only let his control slip for a short time, a single moment, the king was free and easy with his memories. For want of anything better to do, they watched what felt like most of his childhood (Edelgard silent and pensive, Claude keeping up a running commentary). 

He was a happy little kid, but his stepmother… wasn’t. And with the eyes of an adult, it was all the more clear. 

“I think she truly loved Ionius,” Claude guessed, after another time that child Dimitri barged into Patricia’s room, the Queen hastily hiding her tears. “She couldn’t stay - Thales would have marched her right out after her child were born, because having a mother hang around would go against his attempts to isolate and control Edelgard, but…” 

Dimitri nodded, addressing her directly. “She missed you. All the time. I can see it now.”

“And your Jedi family stood by and did nothing. You are not convincing me.” 

Dimitri sighed. “I’m not trying to _play_ you, I’m not Claude-” 

“Hey, I heard that-” 

“-I just wanted you to know. She didn’t abandon you willingly.” 

“Hmm,” was all she said, her eyes on the memory and her face blank. 

They continued, inevitably, into Duscur. Claude didn’t watch the carnage, but Dimitri’s face. It obviously pained him to revisit these moments, but the king’s control didn’t waiver. He watched everything carefully (and as dispassionately as one could expect).

“You worked with these people. The ones who killed my parents, Glenn, and so many others,” he said, though his voice was mild. “When I found out… I hated you for that. I even assumed you were directly involved, though - you obviously weren’t here.” 

“You know the position I was in. To destroy both the Sith and the Jedi, I needed to ingratiate myself with them. Once Arundel was exposed, I stabbed him in the back.” 

“Yes, I realize that now. You had your vision of the Galaxy - and you were willing to do whatever it took to bring it about,” Dimitri said. (Claude still thought he sounded a bit patronizing, but the king was clearly sincere). “But if I’m willing to forgive _this_ , surely you and the Jedi can-” 

“No,” Edelgard said.

She said nothing else for another week.

* * *

Claude’s internal clock told him they’d been inside for six months (meaning their bodies had been unconscious for about three minutes - people on the outside were probably starting to worry) when Edelgard finally showed them a meaningful memory. Oh, she'd gone through her training as a teenager, all of the ways she worked to undermine Thales as an adult - but she'd never gone back this far before.

King Ionius had a lot of concubines, and many children as a result - twelve of them. All of the apprentices a megalomaniacal Sith could ever want. Edelgard, near to the youngest, was barely four when Thales started turning them against each other.

It was brutal, uncompromising - closer to torture than anything, really. Thales clearly wanted the children to attack one another, completing their training in the old Sith way by striking down someone they loved. And Claude could tell, as young as she was, that Edelgard had already become his prize pupil. He probably sensed that the Force was strongest in her.

She took the torture without flinching, and refused to turn against her family. For years. One by one, they disappeared. Thales caused their deaths in the ways he thought would break her. Making it clear that she wasn’t strong enough to save her eldest sister from a pack of wild beasts, or a brother from sickness. 

She didn’t give in until only two of them were left. But finally, when they killed her last and youngest brother in front of her eyes, she let the Dark Side in, using it to destroy her brother’s murderers.

Then Arundel walked into the cell, looked at the blood-soaked ten-year-old in front of him, and _smiled_. “Finally. You are ready for the training.” 

Claude imagined it went like this - he’s heard enough about how the Sith operate - but actually seeing it is pretty damn powerful. Dimitri, as expected, was less restrained. There were tears streaming from under his blindfold as Edelgard lets the memory fade. 

“El, I can’t imagine... That would have broken me,” the king says, with no doubt at all in his voice. “A lesser temptation very nearly did. This - I’d have been beyond saving.” 

She didn’t acknowledge the part-confession, part-compliment. She locked eyes with Claude. “Where were your precious Jedi?” 

“The same place they’ve been for too long. Sitting in Garreg Mach, letting the planets run their own affairs,” he said, meeting her gaze. He is almost as stubborn as she is, and he won’t back down, either. “It doesn’t have to be that way. We can change things - make sure it _never_ happens again.” 

“Faerghus would never support our forcing the Grandmaster to step down-” 

“Faerghus _will_ ," Dimitri said, and Claude hid a smile behind one hand. Part triumph, part genuine amusement. He could see the moves in Edelgard’s game now, and poor Dimitri - honest, kind Dimitri - reacted exactly the way she wanted. 

She could’ve just come out and asked for it, but she was entirely too proud for that. Well - Claude could work for that. 

“Something like _that_ happening under her watch is unacceptable,” the king continued. “Knight Byleth told me… Well, the details are personal to him, there is a reason the Grandmaster has failed in her duty and spent too much time focusing inward. He and Master Seteth would be better custodians of Garreg Mach, I believe. And they’re willing to take that role.” 

Interesting… Claude would have to get the full story out of them later. For now, he pressed their advantage. “We can strike against the conditions that created the Sith’s rise. Leicester will no longer require the Roundtable nobles to be Force-sensitive.” 

“Faerghus will not follow that,” she said.

Incredibly, Dimitri still didn’t see what she was doing - or, no, Claude corrected himself. He wasn’t as dumb as that. He could see it - but she wasn’t pushing for things he didn’t already want to do, and wasn’t too proud to ‘back down.’ (Thank the Force for that - one of them had to). 

“Our monarchy is rather more entrenched, but I have some thoughts. A representative Parliament - where the lower house of commoners has far more political power. Faerghus won’t accept radical change, but if I gradually cede power to the people…” 

Claude spoke next. “There’s the matter of Almyra - and Dagda, Brigid, Morfis, Sreng, Duscur… Rhea let this close-mindedness continue for too long. A System-wide council. No power over internal planetary affairs, but discussion, diplomacy…”

Edelgard raised a hand to cut him off. “I fail to see the use in continuing this discussion _here_. There are many people who must agree - besides us three. We are just the start.” 

Dimitri’s mouth dropped open. “You mean…” 

“Yes. I think it’s about time we _woke up_.” 

There was little fanfare in it. One moment, they were in the mind prison - the next, they were back in their bodies. Claude wondered if he’d underestimated the time dilation ratio, because Hubert and Ferdinand were bending over Edelgard as if they thought she’d been dead, and - incredibly - Hubert was in the same room with multiple enemies, and didn’t seem concerned with killing them at _all_.

“You stupid rancor,” he heard Felix tell Dimitri, the words at odds with how worried the new Shield of Faerghus sounded. “Risking yourself like that!” 

“It was worth it,” the king said, a grin on his face. 

“Oh, yeah?” 

“Yes, it was,” Edelgard said. She got to her feet unsteadily, with much help from Ferdinand. “Hubert - tell our men and the Mandalorians to stand down. The war is over.” 

“I can’t believe that actually worked,” Sylvain muttered, helping Dimitri to stand in turn. 

“I never doubted it for a moment,” Lorenz said serenely, pulling Claude to his feet. “You severely underestimated the Grand Duke of Leicester… I’ll take those thousand credits at your convenience, Gautier.” 

Sylvain couldn’t even pretend to look bothered as handed the money over, and Lorenz only talked their ears off about the future and the new duties of a kinder nobility a _little_ before declaring he would use the proceeds on a celebratory feast in the streets of Enbarr. 

* * *

Later - much later - Claude slipped away from the celebrations and found Edelgard, a lonely and quiet figure, staring up at the palace. Thanks to their sojourn in the mind prison, he had a pretty good idea what was on her mind. Eleven of her siblings had died there, and she’d be feeling their absence more keenly now that she’d ended the war, their deaths only partially avenged. 

He didn’t offer any condolences - she wouldn’t want that. Instead, he grinned. “I have one last idea - something that should help secure the future we both want. But Dimitri is going to complain about it.” 

“In that case… I’m listening.”

Claude immediately wished he’d rigged up a recording device ahead of time to capture the look on her face when he explained. Oh well - his memory would have to serve. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of the things that I love about 3 Houses is that there isn't a good ending and a bad ending. That in all 3 routes, one of Dimitri or Edelgard - or both, in VW - don't survive the war. And here I go, sparing all of the lords in both long 3H fics I've done :D 
> 
> Hopefully this doesn't feel too abrupt, but I think it works - they were in there talking it out for a LONG time, and they were no longer hiding their true intentions from one another, which are both elements lacking in the game.


	30. Epilogue (One Year Later)

King Khalid IV of Almyra - formerly known as Duke Claude Riegan - still possessed his knack for correct predictions. Dimitri complained about his proposal that night, and he hadn’t _stopped_ complaining about it in the year that followed. 

“She’s the only family I have left,” the king said, for about the tenth time, as they waited for the rest of the Fodlan System Council to assemble. 

The meetings were going well - there were old wounds on all sides, the legacy of wars between Faerghus and Sreng, Leicester and Almyra… but as Khalid had predicted, getting together and actually _talking_ helped dispel the old tensions. The alliances forged to counter Adrestian aggression continued, now because the other planets knew they’d need to band together to prevent Adrestian political domination. It also helped that Dedue and Petra were members of their respective planetary delegations, helping to soothe the others and assure them the process could be trusted.

“Is this the shovel talk? _If you hurt her, I’ll hunt you down?_ Dima, I’m pretty sure she can kill both of us if she puts her mind to it.”

“No, of course she can take care of herself. I just… want to make sure she’s happy. And that _you_ are, of course,” Dimitri added after a moment’s hesitation. “We haven’t known each other all that long, really, but I consider you a friend.” 

“That feeling’s mutual. We’re gonna do great things for the System, together,” Khalid said, patting the king’s shoulder. “But part of the price of accomplishing our ambitions is, well, giving in to the old way of doing things, at least a little.” 

Edelgard interrupted them - either she’d been eavesdropping, or she could guess because it was all that Dimitri ever talked about, these days. “Yes, stepbrother, not all of us are so lucky. Your love-match is also politically acceptable - advantageous, really, since it appeased the Gloucesters’ concerns about ‘Claude’s’ departure. Lorenz is very happy to start his time as Grand Duke by milking that wedding for everything it’s worth.” 

Dimitri’s face fell a little, and Khalid bit back a laugh. Perhaps the _best_ part of claiming his rightful title as King of Almyra was no longer having to spend quite as much time with Lorenz Gloucester. The man was currently fussing over every detail of Marianne’s wedding, wanting to show off Leicester’s wealth and power to a Galaxy that was eagerly waiting for the consummation of the celebrity match. 

“You know that many do not even want me in this room,” Edelgard continued. “Jedi are _expected_ to forgive and forget, but the people need… reassurances. Abdicating the monarchy so that Ferdinand could become Prime Minister is only a start. Appearing to tie myself in a subordinate role to another ruler is - necessary, to avert disaster. If it was not Khalid, it would have been a stranger.” 

“At least this way, we both get to marry someone we know that we respect,” Khalid said, nodding. “And, who knows? We might learn to love one another.” 

It really wouldn’t be so bad. Edelgard had many admirable qualities: ambition, intelligence, determination… She wouldn’t be some passive queen, and he didn’t expect her to try. They’d work together - and Force help anything or anyone that stood in the way of their reforms. 

“Sylvain is convinced that you are secretly in love already,” Dimitri confided. “Oh, and he asked me to formally invite you to _his_ wedding. Felix didn’t want a ceremony at all, but Rodrigue _insisted_ on it. He is currently back home being fitted for his formal attire - and hating every second of it.” 

Khalid laughed, easily able to picture the scowl on the younger Fraladrius’ face. As for Sylvain - it was nonsense. Just because he’d risked his life to save Edelgard, then proposed marriage to her, didn’t mean he _loved_ her. 

Though, it was easy to see why someone would make that assumption when you put it like _that_....

Their eyes met slowly, and both immediately looked away. If Khalid didn’t know better, he’d think she was… blushing?

Beside him, Dimitri groaned. “And now I owe him three thousand credits. _Great_.” 

* * *

Fitting Felix for a wedding suit reminded Ingrid of trying to stuff a manka cat into a Life Day sweater. He was unhappy, swearing, and if the shop employees weren’t careful, they were going to get scratched, or even bitten. 

Leonie met her gaze, rolled her eyes slowly and deliberately, and made a shooing motion. Ingrid gratefully accepted the invitation to depart the scene. 

She’d been as shocked as any of them when, in the middle of Sylvain and Felix arguing over who would get Ingrid as their “best man,” Felix compromised - and produced an unheard-of _second_ friend. Ingrid took a liking to Leonie immediately. They hadn’t interacted much in their time at the Enclave, but the other woman was an honest, no-nonsense warrior. It was easy to see why Felix and her continually sparring had blossomed into an actual friendship.

Felix hadn’t told her yet, but he was going to recommend her for the new King’s Guard. She’d be the first Force-Blind to join the organization in, well, ever. Dimitri desperately wanted to start making things fairer for them and uphold his promise to Edelgard, but he needed people who were qualified for their new positions, able to _prove_ to skeptical nobles that you didn't need the Force to do excellent work.

After watching Leonie in action, Ingrid easily agreed to second the recommendation. If any of the old Knights had a problem with it, she’d soon set them right on the training grounds.

It was mercifully quiet _outside_ the shop. Ingrid made her way over to the bench where Rodrigue was sitting. The Duke’s relationship to his son had been mending fast, but Felix still lashed out at stressful moments. He’d chased his father out a few minutes earlier. 

Rodrigue smiled to see Ingrid sharing his predicament. She expected that to be the extent of their mutual understanding. Instead…

“I saw Glenn,” the Duke said abruptly. 

Ingrid blinked. She had gotten the impression Glenn’s appearance to them that day was a one-time thing. Rodrigue’s eyes were calm and clear, though, so this didn’t seem to be a Sith delusion or anything. 

“It was exactly how you described it to me,” Rodrigue said. “And he didn’t stay very long. Something about the wedding being so soon reminded him to appear, I expect.” 

“I’m happy for you,” Ingrid said, and she meant it. She’d certainly gotten a lot of closure from their own short conversation.

“It wasn’t quite the same as yours,” the Duke said with a small laugh. “He was as upset as an at-peace manifestation of the Force can be, I think. He upbraided me for how I handled his death, and, ah, what I said to Felix.” 

“Oh,” was all Ingrid said. Felix had told them about it before. At the time, she hadn’t understood why the words upset him so much. Then she lived through a war herself, and saw how little honor or glory there was in death. It was simply death, ugly and permanent - well, unless you were Glenn, apparently…

“My whole life, I swore to uphold a certain set of values,” Rodrigue mused. “But… Seeing what those values did to Felix. To Dimitri. Even to Edelgard - yes, Dimitri told me what he saw inside the mind prison. I have to say, I am happy and proud we have a King who will work to change things. I promised Glenn I’d support him - not because it’s my duty, but because I believe in it.” 

“That’s wonderful,” Ingrid responded, with genuine warmth. Of course Duke Fraldarius was the king’s most loyal and tireless supporter - they’d all counted on that. But if he was able to convince some of the other nobles to share his new enthusiasm, that would be even better.

Rodrigue smiled at her, and now it was the smile of an older man to his one-time daughter-in-law. “He also told me to tell _you_ to, quote, ‘get a move on with that cute new baronet. I’m the one who’s dead, not her.’” 

Ingrid flushed and thought, with considerable guilt, of that last message from Ashe. She’d left it without a reply for almost a day, at this point, not even sure how she felt about his confession. Felix and Sylvain both told her to answer it, with fond disgust at her reluctance. Now even Glenn was berating her from beyond the grave. 

“I suppose I’d better. Who knows what he’ll do next, otherwise? Manifest in front of the King during a full council session to update them on my love life?”

“Yes,” Rodrigue said, mock-gravely, but with a twinkle in his eyes. “Knowing Glenn, it would probably be best to give him what he wants.” 

* * *

Jedi Master Byleth Eisner stood at the welcoming ceremony for another group of Fodlan System padawans, reflecting on how much had changed in just a few years. 

It was not Rhea, but Grandmaster Seteth who stood in front of the class and gave the welcoming address. And instead of Byleth standing and wrestling with his unease, he stood and felt… content. Peaceful. 

Rhea had been a flawed instrument for the Force, there was no doubt about that. But it had worked through her possessiveness and made sure that Byleth ended up where he was meant to, all the same. Now that the Fodlan System was at peace, it needed a teacher more than it needed a warrior. 

As Seteth worked towards the end of the speech, Byleth spared a glance for his fellow teachers - most of whom were new, though not new to _him_. Annette and Mercedes were freshly Knighted, and had volunteered for this particular assignment. Byleth had no doubt they’d be quite good at guiding the young padawans, even if Annette still occasionally blew a hole in something when she lost control of her Force. 

As for Jeritza, he had been doing so much better with mind-healing and therapy that his Death Knight persona was a thing of the past. Seteth was willing to give him another chance at the job he’d once held on a Sith’s orders. Like Byleth, Jeritza hadn’t initially chosen this position - but he _was_ an excellent duelist, and the kids could learn a lot from him. 

Perhaps most importantly, it kept him and his sister together. Seteth could hardly complain about the breach of Jedi doctrine when he, himself, clung so closely to his daughter. Byleth figured that there was some middle point between Rhea’s obsession with family and the Jedi Order’s official condemnation of it. With luck, they’d find it together - and leave the new padawans more stable than the old. 

The Enclave’s secret basement had been cleared out and boarded up. It hadn’t been an easy conversation, but Rhea had eventually agreed to let them bury Sothis’ body. She returned to what had once been Nabatea, which concerned Byleth at first - such places were empty wounds in the Force, and it seemed dangerous to let someone so unstable wander around one. But she seemed to be doing well in her messages. Perhaps, in time, she and the dead planet would be able to heal one another.

Edelgard, Dimitri, and Claude (Khalid?) all had grand plans and great ambitions for how they’d reform the System - but it all started here. Making sure that the next generation of Jedi would learn from Rhea’s mistakes - go out into the System and do good, instead of hiding behind the Enclave’s walls. And Byleth knew that he was more than capable of being that teacher. 

* * *

“We’ve got another mission,” Yuri said, interrupting the _Kyphon’s_ latest pazaak game. Just in time, too, because Caspar looked like he was about to launch himself over the table and start brawling Balthus (who, in fairness to Caspar, _had_ been cheating). 

The crew was a lot bigger than it used to be - they’d added the two former Mandalorians and the Ashen Wolves to Ashe’s existing crew. Luckily, the _Kyphon_ itself had also grown. Ashe took advantage of the income from his new noble title to make additions and modifications to his beloved ship. And even though he no longer had time to captain it directly, he’d placed it in the hands of a trusted friend.

With the Sith threat defeated, the SIS had a new job for Yuri’s cell. Luckily, it lined up perfectly with what Ashe was trying to do as a Faerghus baronet. There were a hell of a lot of overlooked children in the Galaxy - Hutt victims, refugees from the recent war, and so forth. 

The SIS ordered him to deliver the Force-sensitive ones to Garreg Mach or Coruscant or Dantooine as quickly as Yuri found them - obviously, because nobody wanted to risk the Sith rising again in some untrained, angry kid. They didn’t care what happened to the kids who couldn’t use the Force, which was typical. Ashe and Dorothea had their own ideas, though, and were burning through most of the baronet’s credits to establish a series of orphanages throughout the Fodlan System. 

It was honest work, if a bit boring. Yuri knew that Caspar was spoiling for a fight. Well, he might get one this time.

“Our contacts tell us that one of the Hutts is up to something. Not a _Sith_ level threat, just normal Cartel shit, but the Republic wants him to go away, all the same. Send a message to the others - the war didn’t leave us as weak as you seem to think.” 

Caspar whooped. “Aww yeah! Finally!” 

“Reconnaissance _first_. Then blasting,” Yuri chided him. “But, well, we all know the Hutts won’t go down quietly. So polish your armor or… whatever it is you do.”

Linhardt groaned and, without removing his helmet, put his head down on the table. Against all odds, he was asleep a moment later. 

“Not gonna lie, Yuri-bird, this is a _weird_ crew,” Hapi said, once he’d joined her in the cockpit. (She was one to talk, managing to be both a crack pilot and look bored with every death-defying stunt she pulled off). 

“Good weird, though,” Yuri said with a smirk. “Like, your uncle foisted your cousins off on you. And you don’t know them well and it’s a little chaotic, but they mean well.” 

“Family, huh? Is the Savage Mockingbird letting his talons go soft?”

“The Hutts are about to find out how sharp they still are,” he said, his smirk shifting into something more wolfish. “Set course for Nar Shaddaa.” 

“Aye-aye, cap’n,” Hapi said sarcastically, but she punched the hyperdrive all the same. 

* * *

Prime Minister Ferdinand Aegir was in his element. He’d always had ambitions to rule, but never dreamed that Edelgard would abdicate the throne. Still, he was a perfect replacement, if he did say so himself. The Aegirs were well-respected, so the transition reassured the Adrestian people that they’d be taken care of; and the wider Galaxy recognized that a Sith giving up power was unheard of, which reassured _them_.

In truth (and he could admit it now), Ferdinand had never been that enthusiastic a Sith. He was entirely too noble and honorable to really turn fully to the backstabbing, self-centered Dark Side. Ceasing to use it was not all that difficult for him. With both he and Edelgard so resolved, Jeritza back in the Jedi’s custody, and Bernadetta far more focused on her new writing career than her powers, he supposed this was truly the end of the Sith. 

And a good riddance to them! The things the old nobility had done to curry favor with Thales, snatching up _children_ to be tortured… Ferdinand had to admit that the more secrets about the previous regime he uncovered, the less he missed his late father. 

After finishing a productive tea with Grand Duke Lorenz Gloucester - they’d finalized the details of a trade treaty _and_ exchanged friendly conversation - Ferdinand retreated to his rooms in the palace. His formal evening wear for the night’s ball was laid out and waiting for him. Every detail was perfect… though he’d come to expect no less.

Chief of Adresitan Intelligence Hubert might be, but he still insisted on playing the role of valet in public. Ferdinand supposed people said things around servants that they wouldn’t otherwise, or why else would Hubert keep up the pretense?

“Hubert,” he said aloud, a faint frown on his face.

The stealth field generator snapped into its deactivated position. Ferdinand didn’t jump - he’d grown accustomed to Hubert lurking behind him, and simply started assuming that the other man was always there. It helped him avoid repeating last summer’s embarrassing incident, when Hubert had been in the Prime Minister’s bedroom at a _particularly_ inopportune moment-

“Yes?” Hubert said. 

“Why are you _here_ , exactly? Not - in my room at this moment,” he said quickly, lifting a hand so that Hubert would let him finish. “Here, in general. Surely you could continue to run Intelligence and yet remain at Lord - er, Queen Edelgard’s side.” 

Hubert looked at him like he was an idiot. “Edelgard no longer needs me, and is entirely capable of handling Almyra’s court politics on her own. _You,_ on the other hand, would run our planet into the ground within the week if I were not here to clean up your messes.” 

“That is not it. Do not lie to me,” Ferdinand grumbled. 

“Well… you are doing a better job than I expected,” the spymaster allowed. “At first, I admit, I took up this role because I feared you would cause some inter-Galactic crisis. Now… I’m staying for another reason.” 

“ _Oh_ ,” Ferdinand said, because he finally Sensed what Hubert wasn’t saying. “Oh. I see.” 

“Do you?” Hubert lifted a single eyebrow. “What do you intend to do about it?” 

If Ferdinand was a little late to the opening of the ball, and if his formal suit and cape were a little rumpled and just slightly askew, the assembled guests knew better than to comment on it.

* * *

This was _not_ the end of the Sith, Myson told himself as he floated in the kolto tank. 

It had been a very near thing. He’d been cut and burned so badly by Hubert Vestra’s assassins that they’d thought he was dead. Only his particular talent for using the Force to smother his life-signs had kept him alive throughout the massacre on Nabatea. 

He’d woken after three days to see Solon’s head removed from his shoulders, and the rest… well. Suffice to say that Myson was the only survivor, and even then, just barely. 

He cobbled together enough droids and a single tiny shuttle, and fled the planet with his tail between his legs. An ignoble condition for the last of the Agarthans, the last of the Sith - but against all odds, he _had_ survived. 

The Dark Side wasn’t done with the Galaxy just yet. 

He’d learned his lesson from what had happened. Thales, arrogant and prideful, overreached himself. Myson wouldn’t repeat the Darth’s mistakes. He’d follow the Rule of Two to the letter. He’d scour the Galaxy to find a single apprentice - teach them everything he knew, until they surpassed him and struck him down.

It hurt to laugh. But Myson laughed all the same, the kolto tank shuddering with the force of it. Let the children celebrate their temporary victory. It would make the inevitable, eventual victory of the Dark Side all the sweeter.

It would take hundreds, perhaps _thousands_ , of years for the Sith to find themselves in a position as advantageous as the one Thales had squandered. But they’d endure, waiting patiently for their next chance. 

And when the Jedi were finally slaughtered by a worthy heir, that Sith Lord would know that he, _Myson_ , had set the pieces in motion. His name would live in infamy! 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to swoop in via the Notes to contextualize the last scene! Myson doesn't end up causing any trouble for our heroes. I just have that bit in there so that this can, in theory, tie into the main Star Wars timeline. The Sith aren't really ever wiped out for good, are they? And so the Rule of Two continued until Palpatine does his thing thousands of years later - but the Fodlan System is way better off for a very long time. 
> 
> (And no, Myson, the Sith immediately forget who you were after your apprentice stabs you in the back a couple years into her training. Sorry buddy). 
> 
> Not touched on in the epilogue: Raphael happily retired now that the war is over and opened a cantina. Ignatz is the co-owner and paints a new mural on the walls every few days. Lysitheia does the deserts. (Also, Ladislava survived and is still kicking ass as Mandalore, though she's pretty damn bored in peacetime). 
> 
> Huge shout out to SILMARWEN for their consistent comments on every chapter. It made me really happy to know that at least one person was always going to have something to say :) Please go ahead and check them out here: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silmarwen/pseuds/Silmarwen


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